


Book One: Legends.

by The_AU_Factory



Series: Raiders and Rebels [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-26 07:41:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 33,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/648185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_AU_Factory/pseuds/The_AU_Factory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel has been raised to become Zachariah's successor, but he's always preferred another life despite being unable to escape the destiny he's been placed in. To be the underling to such a feared and famous man, it's only natural that when the opportunity presents itself, he would be kidnapped by pirates. But when he's suddenly thrust into the stories that he's daydreamed about, Castiel is going to learn that the Winchester legend isn't really a legend after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue. Meeting the players. A deal and a rabbit's foot.

**Author's Note:**

> An on-going work. There is no romantic pairings in this first part of Raiders and Rebels; whatever pairings mentioned are those that are alluded to. The second one is still in the works, with three books in total in the series.
> 
> I've tried to be as accurate as possible with everything mentioned, from the weapons and ports to the scents and drinks. (Most of the research comes from the internet, so forgive me if it's a little shaky.) This is a fairly straight-forward story, with surprises near the end to lead us into deeper, more supernatural waters. This story is set within the Golden Age of Piracy, which is roughly from 1650s to the 1720s. I've placed the time period more near the 1700s, since there is more to play with. So this is the early 18th century, and I have made sure to try not to use anything that comes after 1720 in the fic. Note that that's try, so if something pops up that might not be exact, please excuse it.
> 
> Hope you like it and enjoy!

_“The existence of the sea means the existence of pirates.”_  
\- Malayan proverb

There are many uncharted territories. So much water, it goes on for days and months and years. This is a pirate’s playground; this is their home.

Funny how small objects can change a man’s life forever. A ring, a pocketwatch, a coin. To you, they may seem small and insignificant in your palm, to another they are the world.

We are apt to let our dreams pass us by. We imagine so much as small children and as reality sets in, those dreams get locked away and stored to become just another item of nostalgia for when we are drinking our sorrows in alcohol, memories that curl and twist like smoke and get lost in the ether of our minds. Few ever get to realize their full potential.

This that you are about to read is so much _greater_ than you imagine. Threads of time that shift and turn. There are stories that have began and ended before this tale that lead to this crescendo, and perhaps one day the legend of John Winchester will be written for all to read.

For now, we start with his sons, who have already had many more adventures before this one. We start with his sons and the young man they meet who will change the game they thought they knew so well. This is when _everything_ changes.

There’s more in the world than ships and salt and blood.

Legends are made because some people cannot handle the truth. Legends are made because we are tired of the myths of old. Sometimes, the truth is better than the lies.

This is one of those times.

\---

“Almost there, Sammy. Couple of days and we’ll be at that port.”

“Sure we’re ready?”

“Even if we aren’t, it’s too damn bad because here we are.”

“…Think Dad would be proud, Dean? After all we’ve done to get here?”

“Yeah, Sam.” A pause. “He’d probably tear us new ones, but I think after all of it, he’d be right here with us.”

“Think we’re gonna die?”

This time, a laugh. “Probably. Then again, dying’s just about the only thing we have left to do, Sammy.”

“Then we should get a move-on. If we’re gonna go to Hell, I’d rather go sooner than later, Dean.”

“And that’s why I love you, Sam. Let’s go.”

### Chapter I

Castiel does not remember a lot of his childhood before he was thrust into Zachariah’s world. His father must have not been around a lot, for all his memories are of his mother. On top of a horse’s saddle while his mother smiled. Splashing water while she washed his hair, laughing. All good memories, luckily.

He once asked Zachariah why his mother gave him up. He merely replied, “Your father belonged to this society, and your mother was a dirty whore who had the fortune of capturing his heart. And although she did have his heart,” he felt the necessity to add, “you are rightfully ours.”

He vaguely recalls his mother holding his hand as they went up what seemed like the biggest staircase in the world, as it twirled upwards in a white, marble heaven.

_“Castiel,” his mother murmurs, “this man is going to take care of you. He’s going to give you a better future."_

_“Mama,” Castiel, five years old, cries, clinging to her skirt. Tears coming from his eyes, wetting the material. He doesn’t sob like normal children, he just sniffles when his nose starts to run._

_“Please, darling. He’s going to give you a future."_

_“I want Mama, please," the little boy says, looking up at his mother with impossibly blue eyes. She smiles gently, kneels down._

_Wiping the tears from his lashes, she kisses both of his eyes closed. “We’ll see you soon, lovely." She takes off a necklace and a silver band, putting the ring on the thin metal before clasping it around his neck. “I love you.”_

_“I love you,” he parrots, waiting until the necklace is safely resting on his chest before trying to bury himself in his mother’s skirts._

_“Take the woman away.” And suddenly his mother is gone and Castiel is screaming her name, his little legs not getting to the door in time and it shuts, landing heavily in place. “Put the boy in the green room. I think I’ll send him to Uriel until he’s ready."_

_Castiel doesn’t sob, he just lets the tears run down his face as his sniffles echo down the large staircase._

And here he is, twenty years later, studying to work under Zachariah, one of the most powerful men in his area. The governor of the colony, Zachariah is connected to almost all of the ports in the area, and holds quite a iron grip of them. Zachariah is ruthless, enjoying having such a position of power and the sadistic nature to do beyond what is needed to keep them in line and out of pirates’ hands.

Castiel doesn’t share Zachariah’s passion for bloodshed and torture. He’s escaped most of the “lessons” by hiding out in the library, telling Zachariah he’s learning about the bloody history of the colony but instead studying ancient Greek and Roman culture. Castiel did in fact brush himself up on the current situation by dressing down and roaming around the local taverns and even made friends with the local blacksmith, Andrew. Andrew had apparently just moved in the area within a few months, but he did fine work. When Castiel asked about his background, Andrew just smiled. “What about your background?” he remarked, and when Castiel didn’t answer, Andrew said, “Perhaps we can leave the past where it belongs.”

When Castiel is supposed to be in the dungeons, questioning the outlaws about pirates, he instead goes to the blacksmith to hear Andrew’s stories. Andrew’s father used to be a pirate until he was hung for his activities; when he’d settle into port, he would tell Andrew all about what had happened since he was gone. Obviously, the stories were embellished, but they were exciting and much better than whipping a man in a cobwebbed-filled dungeon. (Castiel had made friends with most of the staff in Zachariah’s residence, so it was no big affair to convince them to lie to Zachariah’s officers.)

Castiel stares out of the window until Zachariah hisses, “Castiel. Stop standing there and come to attention.”

He obediently does so. “Yes, sir?”

“I need to show you my daily ritual before I’m off.” He raises an eyebrow. “Also, I’m having you meet my head officer. Then dinner and I will make preparations for tomorrow.”

Castiel just nods. Despite having lived most of his life under Zachariah’s rule being groomed for this position so Zachariah can move higher up the ladder, the governor still doesn’t feel comfortable leaving Castiel in charge.

It’s understandable.

“And I always take a run-through of the dungeons before I go to bed,” Zachariah finishes, watching as Castiel nods. “Did you get all of that, boy?”

“Yes, sir.” Zachariah paces in the library, watching Castiel as he goes from left to right. Beady eyes trace his breathing as Castiel stands in place, waiting for Zachariah to continue.

“I will be gone for two weeks. Business should not take me that long, perhaps I’ll be back sooner.”

Castiel nods.

Zachariah watches for more of a reaction, and when none is given, he huffs, shaking his head as he walks up to the glass container of brandy. “If something happens when I’m gone, you are to first send a letter my way, and then to Uriel.”

“What if I am unable to correspond?” Castiel inquires, tilting his head to the side.

Zachariah’s laugh is more like a bark. “Then you will find a way to get in contact with me. Nothing is more important than keeping my manor safe.” He takes a long drink of his brandy, and Castiel’s lip twitches in contempt. _No_ , he thinks, _nothing is more important than keeping these people safe._ Sure, he’ll keep the manor in good condition. But when push comes to shove, Castiel is going to make sure the town is secure. Zachariah may not care who dies and who lives, but Castiel sure as hell does.

“You need to stop daydreaming,” Zachariah barks, bringing Castiel from his thoughts. “Stupid boy, how are you to run a town when you can’t pay attention to me for five seconds?”

“Apologies, sir.”

Zachariah sighs. “When I come back, we are to arrange a wedding date.”

“Wedding date?”

“I have offered you to the governor of a colony on Hispaniola.” Zachariah practically preens as he talks about it. “His daughter is quite beautiful, and when I showed her a picture of you, she was happy to have your hand.” He snorts. “Apparently she also has a soft spot for blue eyes.”

Castiel already wants to drown himself. He was hoping to avoid an arranged marriage. His first experience with romance was a whore in a room above the tavern, and he was loath to repeat the experience. Not that he _wasn’t_ attracted to people, it was just…he preferred reading about the experience of love to the actual thing. Besides, most women he had known in Zachariah’s circle often had different intentions and had affairs behind their husband’s back. Or sometimes they were frigid and the _husbands_ had affairs. Either way, Castiel was fine unmarried. Not like he could say that. “I would like to meet my future bride, at least.”

Zachariah scoffs. “We start preparations for the marriage when I return.”

Castiel touches the thin metal that hung around his neck. Perhaps it was time to get married, have a wife. Perhaps she wasn’t that bad.

“Although perhaps I should have gotten you a husband by the enthusiasm you seem to be having for a future wife.” Castiel again keeps silent. The gender of the person doesn’t matter, it is the fact that they would still probably be either completely dull or power-hungry that turns him off of the idea. He doesn’t think that he is pigeon-holing the entire upper class. He is just basing it off of what he knows. (Of course, he doesn’t consider himself part of the upper crust.)

Zachariah has a few minor melt-downs before actually getting on his ship. Castiel sees him off, and when he is gone, he tells the head officer to check on the house.

Andrew seems surprised to see Castiel. “I thought you had business at the manor?” Andrew says with a smile.

“I am tired of the manor,” Castiel moans, taking a seat in one of the crude chairs not completely covered in soot.

“Perhaps you would like it more out in the world?” Andrew leans against the iron rod he’s been using to stoke the fires, grinning at Castiel.

Castiel stares at Andrew and his lip quirks. “I wouldn’t survive out there, Andrew. I only know that manor. _Reading_ about the world is much different than _living_ it.”

Andrew shrugs, and puts the iron rod aside, picking up his tongs. “You’d be surprised, Castiel. From what I understand of you, you’re a fighter. As much as you’d like to deny that,” he adds, chuckling.

“Why…what makes you say that?” Castiel says, frowning.

“You try and pretend to be the bookish-type, but we’ve practiced with swords and you picked up pretty well.” Andrew places a large metal rod in the coals, both of them watching the fire as it licks the air. “I’ve seen your temper, and you move fast for someone who claims to read all day long. You have good reflexes for a bookworm,” Andrew teases.

Castiel opens his mouth, and closes it. There had been one day in the town market where a man was abusing a slave child, and Castiel’s temper rose quickly. He had the man kneeling in pain with two swift moves, and the child took residence in the manor for a couple days until Castiel could find him a respectable home. Andrew must have seen the altercation. “I have been raised by a man who appreciates the rougher side of power,” Castiel says carefully. “I’ve probably picked up a few things along the way.”

Andrew glances at him and shakes his head. “You’ll probably need them.” Before Castiel can comment, Andrew grins. “So since you’re here, would you like a story?”

Castiel asks for a short one (since he does have responsibilities to tend to later), and Andrew instead opts for the beginnings of Anne Bonney, a ruthless female pirate said to rule the seas with her lover, Calico Jack. Andrew shouts the words, grinning as he beats the heated rod into a flatter shape. Castiel asks a few questions, but he likes the way Andrew spins a tale.

Castiel lets the officers go ahead and check the dungeons. He gives them express orders _just_ to check and if there were any problems to fetch him immediately.

They come back disappointed that everything is fine. Castiel nods and sends them to their night duties. He then went to the kitchen and had dinner with the cooks as usual, enjoying their gossip as a smile played on his lips.

It was quiet without Zachariah. Peaceful. If this was the way he could run his own colony, Castiel would be okay with that.

It must be at least one in the morning when Castiel awakens to a small chambermaid clutching his shoulder and shaking it violently. He mumbles, still half-sleep, but she keeps on with her motions.

It’s only until he sees the other men standing at the doorway which causes him to bolt upright in his bed.

“Little miss said you was the one in charge,” the one holding the torch sneers, and even in the dim firelight it’s obvious the man has very few teeth.

“I am.” Castiel is strangely calm, mostly worried for the little chambermaid shaking beside him.

The other dirty man with dreadlocks motions with his sword. “You’re needed.”

Castiel quirks an eyebrow. “May I get dressed first?”

The two men exchange glances and whispers. Then the dreadlocked one replies, “A minute to throw a jacket on and then we leave.” Castiel nods, quickly flipping the covers off of him. As he quickly dresses and throws a jacket on, he kisses the chambermaid on the forehead and tells her to hide in the closet in case one of the men stays behind.

But they don’t. Both of them escort Castiel out of Zachariah’s residence, although they _do_ seem rather indignant about it.

“May I inquire as to where you are taking me?”

“No,” the one holding the torch replies.

“We got orders to bring you,” the other with the sword adds, “not to explain.”

They are crossing the town. Castiel sees the huge ship at port. The flag they fly is as black at the night. It’s obviously got other symbols on it, but it is much too dark to see them. Even so, the colors give them away.

Pirates.

The tavern is in quite a mood tonight, debauchery and mayhem rampant both outside and inside the building. Girls squeal, holding their skirts as ragged men chase after them, growling and laughing. There are drunk men getting sick, others singing loudly.

When the cat’s away, the mice will play.

The back of the tavern is where Castiel is lead. There’s a table in the back, surrounded mostly by women and a couple of more serious looking men than the drunk ones outside. As the group of Castiel and the ruffians approach, the women are waved away. One of the men whispers in a woman’s ear, winks at her, and laughs as she scuttles off.

Castiel just stares.

“Leave us,” the other says, and the two men who brought Castiel quickly go for the bar (and presumably the women who are standing beside it). The attention goes back to the blue-eyed gentleman in the nice jacket. “Please, take a seat,” voice smooth like the fancy whiskey Zachariah would pawn off at parties.

Castiel does so, his movements careful and fluid.

The man with the lighter hair speaks up first, almost impulsively. His green eyes watch Castiel closely, wandering over his face and his jacket quickly. _Sizing me up_ , Castiel thinks. “Tell us your name, sailor.”

“My name is Castiel,” he replies evenly, “and I am not a sailor.”

The man laughs, leaning back on his elbows. “My mistake. Not often you see a stare like that from someone who doesn’t skim the water every once in a while.” He has a rip of fabric on his head, a bright red. Some of it is stained dark with sweat, and his hair, on the shorter side, flops over the top edge. His freckles still stand out despite his sun-damaged skin, marking his nose and on his cheeks. His smile is easy and friendly, easy to trust. _Dangerous._

“What’s your last name?” the other one asks. He has darker, longer hair, wearing a Napoleon-like hat tipped to the side. It’s obviously seen better days, fraying around worn edges, but it still looks fine, a couple of feathers jutting from the right brim. He has a torn piece of red fabric loosely tied around his neck several times, also dark with sweat.

“Does it matter?” Castiel asks.

The one with the hat smiles a bit, and a dimple shows. “Why would you think that?”

“I assume that you are pirates,” Castiel says, “which means that once I give you the information you obviously seek, you will kill me.” He states it like a fact, and surprisingly saying it aloud makes him calmer about the situation. As if stating it automatically made it inevitable, so he should no longer be afraid of it being a mere possibility.

Both men stare at him for a few seconds before the lighter-haired one breaks out into a hearty laugh. “Did you hear that, Sam?” he says, clapping the man with the hat on the back. “He _assumes_ we will kill him!” He looks to Castiel and actually _winks_. “I like you. I like him, Sam.” He says it like they are friends, and Castiel is having a little bit of a hard time. Pirates are supposed to be more menacing than this, aren’t they? With missing limbs and peg legs and eye-patches. Not obviously attractive and acting as if Castiel is a new friend they brought to have a few drinks with.

Sam, the man with the hat, is grinning as well. “Well, you did _assume_ correctly that we are, in fact, pirates. But we won’t kill you.” His stare goes behind Castiel and his eyes—also a strange blend of brown and green—light up. “We’ve heard a lot about you.”

“…Have you now,” Castiel replies, eyebrow quirking upward and the lighter-haired man laughs again.

“Oh, I _really_ like this one, Sam.” He meets Castiel’s eyes, obviously amused. “Our inside man has told us about you, and he thinks you’re worth saving.”

“Inside man?”

Sam nods. “We don’t like to go in blind on a job like this. After all, Zachariah is a huge name around these parts. We had to be careful.” He waves in a forward motion, looking behind Castiel. “C’mon, Andy, have a drink with us.”

When Castiel looks behind him, it’s definitely his friend Andrew who walks up, almost bashfully. “Hello, captains. It’s good to see you again.”

Sam frowns. “C’mon, Andy, you don’t have to call us ‘captain’.”

“Yeah, Andy,” the other man says, patting the seat next to him, “you have known us for a pretty goddamn long time.”

“Sorry, Dean,” Andrew replies, his grin getting more relaxed, “I just thought that you might want to keep up the whole high-and-mighty captain thing you obviously have going.”

Dean grins, and quickly pours Andrew— _Andy_ —a drink, shoving it at him. Then he brings his green eyes back to Castiel. “Would you like a drink as well?”

“No.”

Dean grins and pours one anyway, sliding it over to him.

Sam’s the one who speaks up. “How did you figure we were pirates, Castiel?”

Castiel shrugs, pushing the drink ever-so-slightly to the side. “The flag when I was dragged by the port by your associates.” His words get larger and his tone gets more clipped. Castiel is fighting between anger and anxiety and he’s keeping a fairly cool head. “Unusually black.”

“Told you the flag is a dead giveaway, Dean.”

“And that’s why we agreed to fly it at nighttime, Sam,” Dean replies, elbowing his brother.

Sam turns his attention back to Castiel. “You’re an educated man.”

“Yes,” Castiel answers, sending a small glare to Andy.

“We’d like to know a few things.”

“I’ll tell you what you want to know.” Castiel isn’t up for arguing. Besides, if they raid the town now, Castiel will be dead anyway when Zachariah returns. He really doesn’t have any _allegiance_ to Zachariah.

Dean puts on a pout, and Castiel can’t believe this man is _captain_ of a _pirate ship_ right now. “We haven’t even threatened torture yet.” He takes off the shock of red fabric on his head, placing it on the table. “You’re taking all the fun out of this interrogation.”

“However, I do want to know something first.” Castiel is keeping his eyes on Sam, who actually seems to be taking this seriously.

Dean grins at Sam. “ _Ooh_ , Sam, maybe these are his demands.”

“Go on,” Sam says, scowling at his brother when he laughs and takes a shot with Andy.

“I don’t care what happens to the officers or Zachariah, but I _do_ care about the people in this town.” Castiel doesn’t realize he’s staring at Sam. “You can raid the town for everything you’d like. I’ll even tell you where the important documents are held. Just keep the people safe.”

Sam is quiet, and then looks over to Andy. “You weren’t lying,” and his tone is practically unreadable.

Andy nods. “Told you.”

“What did you tell them, Andrew?” Castiel demands. He can’t believe he didn’t see it. All the pirate stories, those weren’t his father’s, they were _his._

Dean is actually serious when he answers Castiel. “He told us you weren’t meant for the uppity assholes of the rich class. He said you were more comfortable down at our level.” When Dean grins, it’s slow and almost seductive. Castiel blushes, which thankfully is masked by the candlelight in the tavern. “Andy said you liked the pirate stories, practically _begged_ for them.”

“I-I—”

“We’re bringing you with us,” Sam says, standing up.

Castiel immediately begins, “What will happen to the tow—”

“The pillaging won’t happen tonight,” Dean answers, elbowing Andy to stand. “We’re just scoping out the area. We’ll wait until we’re better prepared, when we have a plan.”

Castiel looks at them frantically, palms on the table, his temper rising. “I just can’t leave these people. There’s no one here for them.”

Dean nudges Andy. “Round up the troops, we’re leaving. And for fuck’s sake, tell them if I see any women on board this time, they are getting thrown overboard.” Andy nods, and goes on his way, shouting and yelling to gather the attention of the crew.

“We didn’t say you had a choice in leaving,” Sam replies, and goes up to Castiel, arm outreached to assist him in moving forward.

Sam is taller than Castiel expected, but the smaller man is much quicker. He grabs the arm Sam’s reached out to him and quickly moves to Sam’s back, wrenching the wrist in an awkward position. Sam cries out (and Castiel is almost sure it’s more in surprise than pain), and when Castiel starts to speak, he finds there is a sword to his neck.

Castiel then understands why Dean is a captain of a pirate ship. Dean purposefully digs in the blade, making sure to draw blood. “You’ll let go of my brother’s wrist right now or else I will watch you bleed to death on this table.” When Castiel looks at Dean, he knows that the man means every word. He has gone from the silly drinker that laughed along with Andy to coiled steel in every movement, waiting to strike. “I don’t mind finding another informant.”

Sam chuckles as Castiel lets go, slowly showing his hands to Dean. “He’s actually pretty strong, Dean.”

“Really? He looks kind of gangly.”

Sam jerks Castiel’s arm forward and then thumps a large hand onto his back, forcing his chest against the table. “Sorry, but you’ll understand if we cuff you now.”

Castiel looks up at Dean from his position on the table. “Promise me the town will stay safe in my absence and I will go quietly.”

“We’ve got someone to take your place late tomorrow, when the town is aware you’ve been taken. Someone we trust and who knows how to deal with things like that.” Sam slowly takes his hands away from Castiel, who rights himself and brushes off his jacket.

Dean leans in close, and gently prods the sword into Castiel’s side. “Now _move._ ”

Castiel does so without a word.

\---

Dean still holds the sword at his side while Castiel walks in front of them to the ship. “When is Bobby supposed to get here?”

“Tomorrow around one in the afternoon,” Sam answers. “He knows the score. He’ll stay until that bastard comes back into play, and then he’ll give us what we need to go in and take what we want.”

“Good. I want to bring this fucker down so we can move up to the bigger prey.”

Castiel doesn’t say anything. When they get in the ship, Castiel is taken to the small set of prison cells on the boat. He notices they have tried to set up bedding, given him a couple pillows. The floor is clean and there’s biscuits on the floor. “Have to spend the first night here,” Dean says. “Just can’t trust people these days.”

He seems surprised when Castiel just stares at him, and then goes in of his own volition and closes the door behind him, making sure it locks. “Yes, Captain.”

Andy is waiting for Sam and Dean, walking to the door as soon as they come in. “I promise, he’s a good one.”

“We know, Andy,” Sam assures him, smiling to ease him down.

“How long did you say he hung around for, Andy?” Dean asks, thunking his sword into the table. Sam looks disapprovingly.

Andy shrugs. “Almost as long as I had been there. The second week is when he found me.”

“You’ve fought with him?”

“Only what we called practice.” Andy frowns. “Almost took a limb a couple of times. He’s fast and he’ll deny it up at down, but he’s good with a weapon.” He scratches his head and the two brothers wait for Andy to continue. “When he’s angry, he moves twice as fast. He likes to pretend to be ignorant when you’re just joking around, but when push comes to shove, he’s in the battle.”

“Hmn.” Dean sinks back into a chair, brow furrowed in concentration.

“Did he do something?”

Sam grins. “Tried to pull a fast one on me when we wouldn’t answer his question about the town being taken care of.”

“He’s strangely protective of them,” Andy agrees. “You’d think he’s all reserved and shit, but that little guy hides some deep emotions.”

Dean looks up at Andy. “Great work, per always, Andy. Knock back a drink and take it easy with the crew. We’ll be on the sea a few days before we can stop at Tortuga with supplies.”

Andy rolls his eyes. “I hate the French there. Fuckin’ pickpockets.”

“Spanish are worse,” Sam reminds him, and Andy acknowledges it with a shrug. “Tomorrow, Castiel is to go in Victor’s room for the interrogation.”

“If Vic bitches,” Dean adds, “tell him to can it or I’ll captain all over that shit.”

Andy laughs, salutes, and shuts the door quietly behind him.

The brothers sit in silence for a while before Dean says, “Quick little fucker.”

Sam laughs. “Yeah. Really jumped into action there.” He gives Dean a small glance. “Think we could recruit him?”

Dean’s face clouds in thought. “I mean, he came onto the boat without cuffs. Let himself into the cell. … _Maybe._ ” He gets up and goes to the whiskey they have stashed beside the huge bottle of rum. Rum they drink like water. Whiskey is for those special occasions when you need something a little stronger. “You could always seduce him.”

Sam snorts. “Yeah, okay, because I’m always all over everyone like _you._ ”

“I can’t help it if everyone thinks I’m the dreamier captain.”

“I hate you sometimes.”

“You love every minute of this shared captain-ship with me.”

“Go to sleep, Dean, for fuck’s sake.”

\---

Castiel sits up the entire night and ends up falling asleep with his chin tucked close to his chest. Dean raises an eyebrow as he looks at him. Didn’t even try to use the bedding, didn’t touch the food. His hair is sticking up every which way. Dean came to get him; Andy was afraid Castiel wouldn’t take his betrayal calmly, and might try to overpower him. Normally, Dean would laugh and make Andy do it anyway, but he’s seen Castiel in action. Besides, Dean doesn’t mind a chance to draw a little blood. Let the bitch _try._

Dean takes his sword and whaps it hard across the bars near Castiel’s head, who startles awake and almost falls off the bench he’s sitting on. “Time to get up,” Dean says, grinning.  
Castiel gives him as powerful a glare as he can muster and stands up.

Dean motions for Castiel to follow him. “Don’t try anything.” He might have been willing to play with him at first, but Dean’s mind is still seeing his hand twist Sam’s arm back. Castiel doesn’t look like much, and Dean is always a fan of messing around with the stuffy upper-class twats, but then he has to go and try to hurt Sam, and Dean goes back into his default mode of suspicion. He’s not going to underestimate this guy again.

“I wasn’t planning on it.” He waits for Dean to open the door and simply stands beside him. “Where are we going?”

“To Vic’s room. We thought we would be nice and not harass you in the cell.” Actually, Sam thought he would be nice; Dean was still a little hesitant about letting this quick motherfucker out and about.

“That is gentlemanly of you.” His voice doesn’t reveal anything.

Instead of going above deck, Dean leads him under the ship.

Sam’s already in the room. It’s rather lavish. Castiel looks around interestedly at it, blinking as he takes in his surroundings. “Vic likes fancy things,” Sam explains, drawing Castiel’s attention.

Dean snorts. “Might as well retire the bastard and throw him in a rich port. Too bad he likes the bloodshed.”

Sam waves the conversation away. “Sit.”

Castiel does so in one of the plush chairs. Sam sits across from him, and Dean obviously prefers to stand instead. “Most people sitting here would be pissing themselves right now, y’know,” Dean mentions casually. Castiel is aware Dean isn’t trying to scare him; it’s said merely as an interesting observation rather than a threat.

“I am not sure why.”

Dean lets out an amused huff and glances to Sam before staring at Castiel. “…Are you serious?”

“I usually am,” Castiel remarks, and tilts his head. Why should he be scared? Physically, they aren’t imposing. Sam, perhaps, due to his height, but they are both attractive men who have well-kept teeth. Their skin is a bit tanned and rough, which is understandable due to their chosen profession, but their eyes are bright and a wonderful mixure of brown and green. (Dean’s are more green, and Sam’s eyes boast more brown.) Their clothes are a little ragged, perhaps, but they are not missing any limbs nor facial features. Castiel is reminded of when he first met Andrew; he almost _wants_ to know them. There is something friendly about them, the way they stand and talk. But something is underneath the surface. Something that isn’t discussed but always there; it’s the way they look at you when they think you aren’t noticing. Predatory, almost.

“You’re thinking pretty hard there,” Sam comments, and Castiel realizes they’ve been staring at him while he’s been pondering away.

“Yes,” he replies, “and I still don’t understand why you think I should be more fearful of you two more than any other pirate.”

Dean stares at Castiel for a bit and cocks his head. “You really don’t know who we are, do you?”  
Dean has learned by now that Castiel has a habit of staring. He doesn’t answer questions he’s not sure of the answer to, preferring to stare at the person until they fill in the blanks.

Sam answers. “Ever heard of John Winchester?”

Castiel snorts. “You mean have I heard the _legend_ of John Winchester?” He shakes his head. “Everyone has. Zachariah made sure I was aware of the story myself.” He pauses, mentally shuffling through the stories he had heard throughout the years. "There are many stories concerning John Winchester. He had connections in society, an American who worked for the British. First stationed in the islands off the coast of Florida, he worked his way further south.

It was there that he met the daughter of the now-dead Samuel Campbell, also known as Bloody Spanish Sam, for the Spanish pieces of eight he liked to collect. Mary Campbell married John Winchester, and it is suspected that they committed some heinous acts of piracy before settling down in Hispaniola." Castiel paused. “It has been said that Mary had children before the crew of her newly-dead father came to recollect what they felt was theirs.” He focuses on the floor, thinking. “I believe it was rumored that John killed Samuel for fear that he would try to take back Mary, who was his only daughter. I don’t believe it was ever proven, but the suspicion was strong enough to leak back to his crew, who came back for Mary, claiming it was Samuel’s last wish.”

Castiel looks between the two boys. “I believe no one knows for sure how the fire was started in the Winchester house, but it is said that Mary ran back in for her children, and everyone except John perished.” He surprises Sam and Dean by chuckling softly. “Zachariah said that a yellow-skinned man was to blame, called himself after some demon. He said that he knew about it, about what really happened to Mary and her children.” Castiel has a small smile on his face, like he couldn’t be bothered to believe a word of it. “He said that John Winchester would come back after him, which is why he had so many officers.” He resumes the story, "And, of course, it is said that John Winchester became a pirate himself, exacting his revenge on the men that were the cause of the death of his wife and children.

But, if John Winchester was a _real person_ ," he presses, “then he would probably be dead by now. There are at least twenty tales of how the man was drowned or hung or burned or disemboweled.”

Dean leans back against the wall. “You sure know a lot for a book-reader.”

“As I said, Zachariah made me study the scripture and rumors surrounding him. I always assumed it was to understand the implications of denying the upper class and falling in with ruffians.” Castiel frowns at Dean, continuing, “However, as time passed, I believe the old man actually deluded himself into thinking the whole myth was true.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Why couldn’t it be true?”

Castiel scoffs, “I am not a _fool_. I looked back in the records of Hispaniola to check for any Winchesters, to see if anything was left to base Zachariah’s fear off of.” He narrows his eyes at Sam. “I found no record of a John or Mary Winchester.”

Dean’s laugh is cruel. “Of course they wouldn’t be under the Winchester name, not if Samuel was out _looking _for his daughter.”__

__“Why is it so important to you?” Castiel finds himself asking, tilting his head curiously at Dean. “It is only a rumor, nothing more, nothing less. Perhaps there was someone named John or Winchester or something for the legend to be based on, but it is probably made-up tales to scare children at night.”_ _

__Sam and Dean exchange glances, and Castiel wonders why they are so serious. “We want Zachariah,” Sam says._ _

__“Why—”_ _

__“But first we need you to tell us about Uriel.”_ _

__Castiel is impossibly confused. To talk about the Winchester myth, and then switch to a completely different subject—did these men even know _what_ information they wanted? “Uriel is close to Zachariah. Zachariah helped him move up the social ladder, and Uriel has always been in debt.” Castiel finds himself looking away from the brothers’ gaze. “Uriel was the one to raise me before I went into Zachariah’s care.”_ _

__Dean nods. “Perfect. You’ll know a lot then.”_ _

__“I was a small child of five when I first when there. I didn’t understand what was happening there until much later, three years before I was sent back,” Castiel explains, shaking his head. “And even then I tried to avoid it.”_ _

__“Eyes and ears pick up a lot. Doesn’t matter if it’s a child or a man,” Dean continues. “You’ll tell us about it and leave no details out.”_ _

__Castiel is no longer frowning but full-on glaring at Dean. “You’ll tell me why.”_ _

__Dean sneers at him. “For what purpose? If you remember, you are the _prisoner_ in this situation.”_ _

__“If you _remember_ ,” Castiel counters, “I came on this ship willingly. I have respected you both despite the barbaric treatment you have given me. To get any information, I demand a little respect in return.”_ _

__This time, instead of a sneer, Dean outright laughs in his face. “You are a haughty little bastard,” and his hand is suddenly on his dagger, “and I should silt your throat and bring us both out of suffering your company any longer.”_ _

__Castiel does in fact full-out laugh at this, and throws his head back on purpose. Dean pulls the dagger halfway out of the sheath before Sam grabs his arm. “Dean, go check on the crew. See how far we are from Tortuga.”_ _

__“Sam,” Dean says carefully, almost as a warning._ _

__Castiel sees the calm look in Sam’s eyes as he stares at his brother. “I can deal with him.”_ _

__“ _Sam—_ ”_ _

__“It won’t come to blows. And Castiel knows if he somehow manages to overpower me, then either you or the sea will kill him,” and Sam’s voice is again smooth like it was in the tavern. “Either you will bleed him out or he will try and swim, and we are still many miles away from any land.” Castiel is impressed at Sam’s ability to threaten him without actually saying anything vaguely threatening directly at him, instead explaining it all to Dean._ _

__Dean, who looks back at Castiel and then to his brother, clapping a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I’ll come and check on you in ten.”_ _

__And then it’s just Sam and Castiel. Castiel can handle Dean’s temper, but he is still not sure how to handle Sam’s calm demeanor. “I can get just as angry as Dean,” Sam starts, as if reading Castiel’s mind, “but I don’t have the same triggers.”_ _

__Castiel understands the warning._ _

__“So, Uriel. Start from the beginning.”_ _

__\---_ _

__When Dean comes to check on them, Castiel has told Sam half the story before they get sidetracked. “I’ve wanted to read _The Iliad_ ,” Sam says, and it’s strange to see him excited like a little child (although he’s doing a good job to look only mildly interested, but Dean can read his brother well), “but the original Greek is hard to find. Only the rich have it.”_ _

__“And they don’t know how to read it,” Castiel says, “which is so frustrating when you want to talk about it to other people but of course they haven’t read it—”_ _

__“—and they don’t know about old Greek myths anyway,” Sam finishes, and he looks up to Dean leaning against the door frame._ _

__“Really, Sam? I leave you alone for ten minutes, and here you are, jerking off together about ancient Greece?”_ _

__Castiel flushes at Dean’s crude language and implications and Sam just laughs and shakes his head. “You don’t know much about ancient Greece, you’ve only let me tell you a few myths.”_ _

__Dean shrugs. “If you told the other crew, they would probably be interested. Stories aren’t that bad, and they’re usually bloody enough to keep even the stupidest one listening.” He raises an eyebrow. “What about Uriel?”_ _

__Sam gets up. “He told us enough to start a plan. How far as we from Tortuga?”_ _

__Dean looks Castiel over, and to be honest, Castiel doesn’t like the way Dean looks at him. It’s a mixture of curiosity and loathing. “We’re getting there. Chuck says if we keep up at a fast pace, it’ll be a few days until we get there.”_ _

__Castiel frowns. “Tortuga’s farther than that.”_ _

__“Not for us,” Dean says. Castiel opens his mouth to say something else, and Sam immediately grabs Dean’s arm._ _

__“See, that’s why I made you leave.” Oh. Hmn. Dean apparently has a small dirk in his hand and was obviously ready to throw it._ _

__“He’s _annoying._ And pompous,” Dean adds with a smirk. “Didn’t think I knew that word, did you?”_ _

__Castiel tilts his head. “I would imagine you’ve heard it before.”_ _

__Dean starts to say something, and Sam twists his wrist. “ _Dean._ Stop picking fights.”_ _

__“Don’t know if you noticed, that’s kind of our job, Sam.” He tugs his brother. “Outside.” Castiel starts to get up, and Dean sends him a glare. “Not you. You stay.”_ _

__“Stop ordering me around like your slave,” Castiel hisses out, and for a second Dean just looks at him and then laughs, tugging Sam out the door. Castiel doesn’t even bother moving; he knows by the time he would get to the men, Dean would slam the door in his face. He’s going to try and preserve _some_ sort of dignity on this godawful ship._ _

__Sure, Castiel doesn’t let the door slam in his face, but he sure as hell kneels to the door and listens; the door lifts a bit from the ground, and Castiel focuses hard on their voices. “You’re making _friends_ with him? With this tightly-wound ninny?”_ _

__“He’s interesting, Dean.” Castiel can almost see Sam smiling. “You would probably like him, if you unpuckered enough to actually talk to him.” There’s a small pause. “He needs help understanding. I think he’s willing to take the steps, Dean, but he just doesn’t get it yet.”_ _

__“Why do you care, Sam? He’s a tool. We’ll use him and be done with him.” Castiel’s hands tighten into fists. “We’ll get the information we need, and we’ll throw him away.” Another short pause. “Why are you fighting me on this? Why this particular one? We’ve only known him, what, for a day? Two?” Castiel can almost feel the disbelief and anger through the door. “Oh my god, Sam.”_ _

__“Dean.”_ _

__“You haven’t just decided this.”_ _

__“ _Dean._ ”_ _

__“You’ve been thinking about this. How long have you been thinking about this?”_ _

__“…Since Andy’s first report.”_ _

__It’s an interesting mixture of emotions in Dean’s voice when he says, “For two fucking months, Sam?”_ _

__“Andy says he’s loyal, Dean. He’s kept Zachariah from hurting the majority of the population and the people from being frightened. Andy says he would go down every day to see them, to mingle with them.” Sam tries to say more and just ends up sighing. “I think it’s worth it to try and see if he’ll join the crew.”_ _

__“What about family?” And Dean proves how observant he is. “The necklace he wears. The one he unconsciously keeps touching. Andy didn’t say anything about him having a lover, and if he was romantically involved with someone Andy would have known.” Castiel touches his necklace, twirling it around his fingers until the ring comes from under his clothes. “He has family that gave him that necklace.”_ _

__“Andy said the rumor was his family was dead. I asked Bobby to look into Zachariah’s records while he’s there.” Sam sighs. “I doubt he has any family left.”_ _

__“Sam.” Dean’s voice is softer, lower. Castiel has to strain over the sound of waves lapping against the boat to hear him. “We can’t take in every stray we find.”_ _

__Sam appears to ignore the way the conversation is going, because the next thing he says is, “We have to find somewhere to stop for supplies before we get to Tortuga. We have to make sure we have things to trade.”_ _

__“Ron’s good at that stuff. I’ll tell him to take an inventory.” Dean suddenly opens the door, making Castiel fall back in surprise. Dean’s laugh rings in his ears. “There might be hope for this one yet, Sammy.” He kneels down, grinning. “Bet you heard my brother wants to keep you around.”_ _

__“Might have,” Castiel bites back._ _

__“Fine. When we dock tomorrow night, _you’ll_ come with me instead of Sam.”_ _

__“What? Dean—”_ _

__“No, Sam, if he’s going to stay on the ship a while, he’ll have to bum around with us low-lifes.” Really, Dean’s smile would be charming if he wasn’t so fucking annoying. “Tomorrow. We’ll even let you bunk with Andy tonight, get used to the rest of the crew.”_ _

__Castiel is not looking forward to it._ _

__\---_ _

__It’s not Dean or Sam or Andy who brings Castiel food, it’s a strange, nervous little man with a rough beard. He’s got bright blue eyes behind round little glasses. “Glasses?” Castiel asks in a soft voice._ _

__“Um, yeah,” the man says, a nervous smile fluttering on his lips. “Dean got them for me.” He shrugs. “Says he got them off some dead guy’s body but Sam told me he really just snagged them from a mayor’s daughter.”_ _

__“Hmn.”_ _

__The little man surprisingly keeps talking. “Yeah, I only wear them around the boat. I can still see far away, but when I’m writing I need to see things close up. The guys know not to play too rough with me or wear my glasses or else Dean will fuck them up.”_ _

__Castiel shakes his head. “This boat is strange.”_ _

__“Huh?” He sets down the food in front of Castiel, a questioning look overtaking his nervous nature for one small moment._ _

__“Two captains running a ship, with a very…eccentric crew.” Castiel tilts his head. “Did you come here on your own?”_ _

__“Um, at first, no.” The man grins. “They took me when they found out I wrote for a living.”_ _

__“Stories?”_ _

__“Whatever would pay,” he answers. “Mostly as a recorder for trials.”_ _

__Castiel thinks about that for a few seconds. “Did you travel a lot?”_ _

__The man scratches his beard; it appears to be a nervous habit. “Yup, which is how they found me! Boat full of rich people, pirates are bound to notice.” For a moment, the anxiety flows right out of him, and a tiny smile forms on his face. “Told them I was an alcoholic, wrote only when I drank. Dean said he liked drinking, Sam said he liked stories. They brought me right in, and I keep track of what happens on the ship. Write down the stories the captains tell me.”_ _

__“You like them very much,” Castiel says aloud, and the man nods._ _

__“They treat me like a person. The governors and judges, they just treated me like a tool.”_ _

__“Thank you for bringing me this food,” Castiel says, making sure the catch the man’s eye and smiling. “Actually,” he adds, “I would not mind hearing a story.”_ _

__The man shifts. “…My writing is not that great.”_ _

__Castiel shrugs. “I’m sure it’s fine…” He purposely lets his sentence trail off._ _

__“Chuck. My name’s Charles really, but everyone on the boat calls me Chuck.” The man pauses for a moment, and then lets his hand stretch out._ _

__“Castiel.” He takes Chuck’s hand and shakes it lightly. “Do you shake all the prisoners’ hands, Chuck?”_ _

__Chuck laughs. “Dean told us you’d be joining us on the crew for a little bit. Vic and Gordon got a bit rowdy about it, but most of us understand wanting to get away from the richer part of society.”_ _

__Castiel doesn’t correct him and just keeps smiling. “I’d still like to hear a story, if you’re up for it.” Before he begins, Chuck assures him his stories sound better on paper. Castiel assures Chuck he doesn’t care, and eats his meal while Chuck raves on about the epic battle in the Port of Bello._ _

__\---_ _

__Castiel doesn’t mingle too well with the crew, he finds. Chuck and Andy do talk with him, as well as other few members, but there a group who keep staring and eyeballing him. Castiel frowns and looks to Andy. “Who are they?”_ _

__“That’s Victor and Gordon,” Andy responds. “Dean and Sam call Victor ‘Vic’ most of the time, but the last time one of the crew called him that, he sliced their hand wide open.” He shakes his head, looking back to Castiel. “He’s our quartermaster, and he’s a vicious son of a bitch.”_ _

__Chuck picks up where Andy leaves off, “Gordon’s the master gunner. Vic likes to use swords and cutlasses, Gordon prefers guns and cannons.” His lip twitches into a sneer. “The crew keeps them at their positions because their good at what they do, but most of us don’t like them.”_ _

__Castiel frowns, and does the head tilt that the men on the ship are starting to know him for. “Aren’t pirate ships mostly a democracy? Can’t you elect a new quartermaster or master gunner?”_ _

__Both Andy and Chuck look at each other before glancing back to Castiel. “See, the thing is, all of us? We’re here because of Sam and Dean,” Chuck says, leaning in to lower his voice. “That’s why they’re the joint-captains. And they do better that way.”_ _

__“We let them appoint who they want,” Andy says, shrugging. “We trust their judgment. They’ve never let us down before. There have been a few people we’ve had big problems with and they’ve dealt with them, but the truth is Gordon and Victor get the job done.”_ _

__“Do you even know what a quartermaster is?” Chuck asks, taking off his glasses to clean the lenses._ _

__Castiel gives them both an awkward grin. Andy chuckles. “Quartermaster is the guy that rules the ship when the captain—or, in our case, captains—is away. He makes sure everything stays in line, and if something serious happens, he’s our judge.”_ _

__“The crew trusts him,” Chuck emphasizes. “He had a best friend on this crew that came on the ship with him. He caught him stealing some loot, and then ran a dagger into his chest and pushed him overboard. Man’s got a sense of justice, and we need that around here.”_ _

__“Lately, though,” Andy cuts in, “he’s been acting wild. More dangerous than usual. Sam and Dean know it too.”_ _

__“Why don’t you elect a new one?”_ _

__“We have to find one,” Chuck states simply._ _

__Castiel shuffles, straightens his jacket. “I’ll be it.”_ _

__Both Andy and Chuck pause, look at each other, look back to Castiel, and then burst out laughing. “Okay, sure, yeah, Castiel,” Andy says._ _

__“What? I would be more suited to the job than Victor, I’m guessing.”_ _

__Andy starts shaking his head, but Chuck takes hold of his wrist and squeezes. “You’d have to work at it, Castiel.”_ _

__Castiel raises an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t mind working for it.”_ _

__Chuck smiles. “Then go for it.”_ _

__“Thank you, Chuck.” Castiel gets up from his leaning position against the wooden rail he had been resting on. “Andy.” He straightens his jacket again. “I think I’m going to call it a night.”_ _

__“See you,” Chuck says brightly, and when Castiel is out of earshot, Andy whips around on him._ _

__“What the fuck was that, Chuck?”_ _

__“I think he could do it, Andy. And I wouldn’t mind him taking over for Victor.” Chuck frowns. “I mean, the captains have taken a shine to him a little, haven’t they?”_ _

__Andy shrugs. He’s not sure. Sam, probably, but Dean…Dean he would have to work with. Castiel would probably have to bleed before Dean could trust him, and with Dean, that was a fuckton of blood._ _

__“If he dies trying, Chuck, I’m blaming your stupid ass.”_ _

__\---_ _

__They end up docking at the port just after nightfall. Dean orders everyone stay on ship except those that need to do their goddamn jobs. When a crewman speaks up, asking if it was okay to bring women on the ship, Dean takes a moment of thought and says as long as they’re gone by dawn._ _

__Even though Castiel is not excited to be going with Dean on whatever stupid little mission he’s dragging Castiel on, he feels better that he won’t be on a ship with drunken fornication occurring all around him._ _

__Sam takes Ron into town for supplies; it seems that Ronald has a nack for remembering the ship’s inventory to the T. “Don’t stick around for long, Dean,” Sam warns, and of course Sam would have to warn Dean was this _particular_ mission. Castiel has never found cursing to be really necessary before, but now he finds himself unleashing a string of them in his mind._ _

__“Always, Sammy.”_ _

__“I mean it, Dean.” They go their separate ways, Sam and Ron to the market, Dean and Castiel to the large establishment that is too loud for its own good._ _

__“Who are we going to see?”_ _

__“None of your damn business,” Dean immediately counters, stepping ahead of Castiel._ _

___Good try,_ Castiel thinks, and walks to fall in line with Dean. “If I am to accompany you, it is indeed very much my business.”_ _

__Dean looks over to him interestedly, then back ahead of him and snorts. “We’re going to Hell and we’re going to see one of its queen bitches.”_ _

__Castiel cannot find a proper response to that._ _

__The woman inside what seems to be a combination hotel-tavern is obviously cultured and above everyone’s pay grade in the room. Of course, with Castiel’s clothing, it’s no wonder she floats directly to him. “Oh, _darling,_ ” she purrs, and his cheeks flush, “what shiny little buttons you have.” She’s laced in several puka shell necklaces and her dress has to be silk. Perhaps satin, from the Orient. She’s obviously dressed down for this place, but it’s also apparent she’s dressing much richer than the rest of the crowd. It makes her stand out, but not upon first glance._ _

__Dean steps up. “Lay off, Bela.”_ _

__She pouts, and leans into Castiel, lips gently brushing his ear. “Would you like me to lay off?”_ _

__Castiel surprises the blue hell out of Dean by mirroring Bela’s actions, murmuring into her ear, “Since I am unsure of your true intentions, yes, I would prefer that, madam.”_ _

__Dean stares as she throws back her head and laughs, clinging onto Castiel’s jacket to balance herself. “Oh, Dean, you were smart to bring this little piece of upper-class heaven with you.” She stares at Castiel and bites her lip. “You _know_ I do so enjoy well-dressed men.”_ _

__Dean snorts. “Yeah, I know you do.” He motions to the table. “Can we sit?”_ _

__“Only if I get to sit beside the beautiful man you brought.”_ _

__“Fine,” Castiel answers, and Dean shoots him a glare. Bela and Castiel sit on one side of the table, while Dean takes a lone seat across from them._ _

__“What would you like this time, Dean?” Castiel wonders where in England she came from. She leans forward, a catlike smile curling on her face. “I thought you would never come back to see me after last time.”_ _

__Dean raises an eyebrow. “Neither would I, but you have a knack of acquiring the things I need, Bela.”_ _

__“It’s part of my job description, Dean,” she says, snapping her fingers. “Lovely, I want your oldest whiskey.” She pats Castiel’s thigh, and he looks over to Dean and glares. He did not come to get felt up by a shifty British woman. “And three glasses, if you wouldn’t mind.” The man she snapped at simply nods and goes to get what she ordered._ _

__“I want the rabbit’s foot.”_ _

__Bela obviously knows what Dean is talking about. “You mean the cursed one?”_ _

__“I know a priestess who would like it back.”_ _

__Castiel tries not to tilt his head in confusion. Bela grins. “How much are you willing to spend?”_ _

__Dean glares. “We saved you from drowning. You give me that rabbit’s foot and we’re even.” Castiel watches the seductive smile slip on his lips, and he realizes he’s like a piece of meat between two sharks. He has no idea what’s going on, and Dean threw him in as a distraction. How wonderful._ _

__“I repaid that debt,” she says conversationally, waving her hand. Suddenly, Castiel finds a hand slipping the buttons slowly off his jacket. “Perhaps you brought him as a bargaining chip? Because if so,” Bela murmurs, and when her hand starts to wander into the inside of his jacket, Castiel shifts awkwardly, stealing looks to Dean, “I’m very intrigued.”_ _

__Dean leans back, and Castiel hates him for it. “Perhaps a _night_ with him, but we want to keep this one.” Oh, fabulous. He has now turned from a piece of meat to a prostitute. “I know what’s happened to men we’ve bartered to you before, Bela, so forgive me if I don’t jump at the offer.” The whiskey comes, and Bela motions for Castiel to pour it. He gives them a good amount, and when he tries to pass himself over, it’s Dean who picks up the bottle and fills the glass to the brim. Castiel hates him._ _

__She huffs playfully. “You never complained when we had our nights.”_ _

__Castiel looks to Dean, who grins. “No man complains when his dick is wet, _darling._ ” He takes a sip of brandy, delighting in his own wit._ _

__Even in the candlelight, Castiel is sure Bela is flushing angrily. “I believe you should leave, Dean.” Castiel can practically feel the fury raging in her and it makes him take a drink of whiskey to distract himself. _Ugh._ Bela takes a small shot of it herself._ _

__“You have it here, don’t you?” Dean lifts an eyebrow. “You knew we were coming.”_ _

__Bela brings her shoulders up in a graceful shrug. Before, she might have played along, strung him on a verbal quest to figure out who spilled the beans, but now she answers him with a simple, “Perhaps.”_ _

__Dean is obviously angry, furious. Castiel can see he wants to ask how she knows, but he must catalog it for another time because he says, “Give us the rabbit’s foot.”_ _

__“Love, you’re going to have to do better than that.” Her hand moves higher up Castiel’s thigh, and he gives a small sound of protest. Bela just looks over to him and smiles. “Perhaps that red cloth around your head?”_ _

__Dean immediately says, “Fuck you.” There’s that dangerous glint in his eyes._ _

__Bela leans forward, “Both you and Sam have one. Can’t you share Daddy’s little goodbye present? I know a lot of people who would _love_ to get their grubby little paws on a piece of that fabric.”_ _

__“And they can keep wanting.”_ _

__“Dean, all you do is sweat on it.” Bela clucks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “People would pay good money to have a piece of John Winchester’s property.”_ _

__Castiel can’t help it when his head snaps over to look at Dean. Dean, to his credit, doesn’t even flinch. “They can pay all they want. It’s not a deal, Bela.”_ _

__“Then what do you have that could possibly drive me to barter with you?”_ _

__Dean shrugs. “I won’t kill you.”_ _

__Bela laughs. “Perhaps you should have let Sam do the talking, Dean, you’ve always been awful at it.”_ _

__That’s when he reaches over and violently yanks a couple of the puka necklaces, the cords snapping and the shells cluttering to the floor._ _

__Castiel doesn’t have time to think, he just acts._ _

__So when the first of Bela’s men knock Dean on the back of the head hard enough to make his head thump against the table, Castiel doesn’t hesitate to jump from his seat and grab the man’s cutlass to hold it against his neck._ _

__“Mm,” Bela murmurs, “you’re fast for a nobleman.” She doesn’t sound concerned, merely interested._ _

__“And you’re shifty for a Englishwoman,” Castiel returns. “If this man doesn’t back off, I’ll slit his throat.”_ _

__Bela smiles. “Please do, handsome,” and that’s when Castiel feels the strong arms take him from surprise behind him, wrenching the cutlass painfully from his hand. “A few times, gentlemen,” Bela says, “but leave their faces alone.”_ _

__Castiel doesn’t understand what she means until there’s a fist connecting in his stomach and he’s doubled over in pain. Dean gets hoisted up, still reeling from the double injury to his head, and he gets a few more punches to his torso and also one to the jaw._ _

__One of the men leans down and starts hocking to spit in Castiel’s face as Bela watches on, amused but obviously violence isn’t a source of entertainment. And then, with the man distracted by his brilliant plan of humiliation, Castiel kicks upward to connect his foot in the the ruffian’s crotch, making him groan and fall of the ground. His associate’s surprise lets Castiel slip easily out of his grip and he quickly grabs the cutlass from before and the heavier scimitar from the man on the ground holding his crotch in pain._ _

__Bela lifts an amused eyebrow. “Haven’t they taught you well?”_ _

__“Let Dean go and we will leave.”_ _

__“You’ll be back.”_ _

__Castiel acknowledges this. “Perhaps we will have something of value when we return.”_ _

__“…This time.” Bela’s tone drops, and she’s no longer playful. “I won’t have any more Winchester nonsense. I’ve caved a few times, but I’m tired of them attempting to play me.”_ _

__“I understand.”_ _

__Bela nods to her man. “Drop him.” Of course, Dean drops right to the floor, catching himself on his hands and knees. He spits blood on the floor and smiles._ _

__“Bitch.”_ _

__“Until next time, Dean.” She looks at Castiel, and he gets the hint. He drops the cutlass and kneels down to grab Dean’s elbow, hoisting it up._ _

__“Perhaps you should work on your people skills,” Castiel remarks._ _

__Dean laughs, spitting more blood onto the floor. “Useless on that demon whore.” He sighs. “Let my elbow go. I can stand.”_ _

__“You are still wheezing.”_ _

__“I can fucking stand!”_ _

__Castiel grudgingly lets go of Dean, who stumbles a bit before resuming a walk out of the place and into the cool night air. Castiel walks close to Dean on purpose, and smiles inwardly when Dean finally puts a hand on his shoulder for support. “What was the rabbit’s foot for?”_ _

__Dean snorts. “There’s a voodoo priestess in Tortuga it was stolen from. Thought she’d do us a favor if we returned it.”_ _

__Suddenly, Dean feels a furry mass being pressed into the hand around his torso. “She was very distracted when she was feeling me up,” Castiel explains, “that she didn’t notice when I took it from the small satchel she had hooked around her waist.”_ _

__“Stupid move on her part,” Dean says, shaking his head in disbelief. “She usually doesn’t carry the items on her.”_ _

__“Perhaps she was about to trade it?” Dean just chuckles._ _

__Castiel glances at Dean while they walk. “Dean and Sam Winchester.”_ _

__“Yeah.”_ _

__“The sons of the mythological John Winchester.”_ _

__“Not a myth,” Dean reminds him._ _

__Castiel nods. “I would like to hear about it.”_ _

__Dean’s silent for a little. “Maybe.” Another long pause. “You did kind of save my ass back there.”_ _

__“I appreciate that you downplay my role,” Castiel finds himself saying, which makes Dean laugh again._ _

__“I try.” He stops Castiel by pulling his shoulder, forcing Castiel to stop. Dean’s face is determined. “Don’t think this makes us best friends. Still not sure if I trust you.”_ _

__“I don’t trust you, either.” Castiel raises an eyebrow. “I think you are foolhardy and reckless.”_ _

__“Part of my charm,” Dean replies, making Castiel roll his eyes. “But I’m glad we’re on the same page. Wouldn’t want you doing the whole hero-worship thing for me.”_ _

__Castiel responds by resuming his walk, throwing Dean off-balance. It’s worth it, even if Dean curses him the rest of the way to port._ _

__\---_ _

__Sam is understandably concerned when the pair come back. Ronald rushes to Dean’s side and hoists him up, clapping him on the back. Dean smiles, teeth dark in the moonlight from the blood in his mouth. “What happened?” Sam asks, even though the way he says it, it’s more of a demand._ _

__“Bela,” Dean says, wincing._ _

__“Told you she was a bad idea.”_ _

__“She’s the one who has the foot, Sam.”_ _

__“She _did,_ ” Castiel corrects him, and Sam lifts an interested eyebrow._ _

__“You got it?”_ _

__Dean holds up the foot. “Turns out this good little kid can pickpocket like a pro.”_ _

__Sam grins and then looks behind them. “Maybe not a pro.” He nods. “There’s torches that look like they’re coming this way.”_ _

__Dean glances behind. He heard footsteps behind them, was hoping they weren’t following them. “On the ship,” he says. “ _Now_.”_ _

__Sam grins at Castiel and nods. For committing a crime, Castiel feels incredibly proud about it. He knows he shouldn’t._ _

__The look Dean gives him when they get back on the boat is worth it, though. It’s more interested, thoughtful. Better than the suspicion from before._ _


	2. Nausicaa. Trust issues and defending the Winchester name in shady places.

### Chapter II

Dean and Sam stare at the rabbit’s foot in their quarters. It lies on the table, innocent. They have the rum out, sipping on it thoughtfully. “He’s catching on quick,” Sam muses aloud.

Dean chuckles. “Bela wanted him.”

“Did she?”

“She was practically on his lap at the table.” Dean picks up the rabbit foot, feels in it his hand. “I told her she could have a night with him if it meant the rabbit’s foot.”

Sam scoffs, shaking his head. “How did he react?”

“Like he wanted to tear my head off.” Dean’s laughter echoes off the walls. “He bounced between confusion and anger and embarrassment the entire time.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “I should have gone with you.”

“You wouldn’t have picked her pocket.” Dean leers at him. “I know you think she’s attractive, Sammy. That’s why I won’t let you go near her.”

“You’ve _slept_ with her, Dean!” Sam accuses his brother.

Dean shrugs. “Yeah, but I also know she’s a venomous hellbeast underneath. She may be beautiful, but you like to stick around and _cuddle_. I know to get the hell out.”

Sam flushes red and sends a glare to his brother, taking a large drink of rum.

“Bela let it go about us to him.”

“Huh?”

“Dad,” Dean simply says. “He knows it’s no longer just a story.” Both of their bands of fabric are on the table, and Dean picks his up, running his fingers over it again and again.

Sam puts his glass down, sighing. “Do you want to explain it to him?”

Dean looks over to Sam with a look. “Why? Sammy, he’s done one good job. One.”

“He could have left you.”

“You would have killed him.”

Sam shrugs. “Probably. But all signs point to him trying to help us.” He looks to Dean.

“Sammy,” and Dean’s voice gets soft. It’s a tone he doesn’t use often, not in their line of work. “Sam, why are you so eager to bring him into our circle? He could be getting close to us just to take us down.”

“You know that’s not true, Dean.”

“It’s something we have to consider.” Dean finishes his rum and places the red fabric beside the glass. “You may not want to believe it, but keep it in mind. He’s adapting. Doesn’t mean that when he gets a chance to go back to his life that he’ll stay with us.”

Sam avoids his glance for a few moments and Dean groans. “Sam. _Sam_.”

“Look, Dean, I—”

“Let’s get to Tortuga.” He points a finger in Sam’s face, which he is quite aware that Sam hates. “Don’t go near him, Sam. I’ll watch him.”

“Dean.”

“I’m not asking, Sam, I’m telling you. He’s my new responsibility. You handle Vic and Gordon and the crew.” Dean gets up from his chair.

“Where are you going, Dean?”

“Going to find out how much damn time we have left until we hit port.” Dean makes sure to close the door right as Sam begins to talk again.

\---

It’s a day and night before they dock at Tortuga. Castiel looks on with a curious stare. He’s heard a lot about the center of trade going on here, but this is the first time he’s been.

Chuck saddles up to Castiel, who turns his head to greet the little bespectacled man. “Hello, Chuck.”

“Castiel, you gotta watch yourself.”

 _What?_ “Is there a problem?”

Chuck rolls his eyes. “Dean’s been in a rage about you.”

Castiel mentally goes through his interactions with Dean. He’s done nothing to encourage anger in Dean, or so he believes. Chuck watches as Castiel’s brow furrows in thought and his hand unconsciously goes to his throat as he plays with the necklace. “I don’t think I’ve done anything to anger him.”

Chuck blinks. “Just…you might want to avoid him.”

Castiel nods, and claps Chuck on the shoulder lightly. “Thank you, Chuck, I will try and stay out of the way.”

Chuck thinks Castiel is trying to be earnest in becoming part of the crew. He’s gathered quite a few of the men in telling old Greek and Roman myths. It’s been about three days since he’s started interacting with the crew, and Andy and Chuck try their best to spread good word about him. If he’s sincere, Andy and Chuck want to help him.

If not, it’s not hard to get rid of a body these days. Chuck wouldn’t enjoy it—he kind of likes the guy—but after a couple years you learn to do what needs to be done.

Castiel’s plan to stay out of Dean’s way is kind of ruined when Dean takes his elbow and drags him. “We’re going to see the priestess.”

“I thought Sam was supposed to go with you.”

“He was.”

Castiel stares at Dean and stops. “Perhaps he should go with you. I can stay behind.”

Dean looks back at him, and Castiel would be stupid to _not_ notice the anger in his eyes. “You’ll shut the fuck up and come with me.”

Castiel presses his lips together and nods. Better to agree now and let things go smoothly. Besides, he has no idea what he’s getting into, and Dean is willing to thrust him into dangerous situations without any knowledge whatsoever. To have an angry Dean putting him in these situations…Castiel might end up injured or left for dead.

“Fine, Dean.”

As they walk, Dean is suddenly aware that Castiel speaks of them in very familiar terms. Usually, people start off with just calling them ‘Captain,’ but the only time Dean can remember that happening is on the first night, when he was put in the jail cell. He’s not sure if Castiel is even aware of it. He’s probably not even aware Dean notices. Sam is perhaps the only one who is really knows just how smart Dean is, how much he files away for later.

What this man does unconsciously is very intriguing. He’s still waiting to see what Sam sees in him. Sam has a knack for reaching people on an emotional level that Dean doesn’t care to get involved with. Usually Dean can understand why Sam brings people on the crew, but not this one.

Hmph. Better prove himself useful soon.

\---

The label of ‘voodoo priestess’ makes Castiel think that her dwelling is going to be dark and forboding and perhaps a bit dirty, and the path Dean leads him through is certainly that. Castiel does not outwardly complain, but he definitely makes Dean aware that he is not happy through the jungle and the river, fighting off a large number of enormous bugs. Luckily, his boots are tall enough to withstand the water, and Castiel counts that as one of the few blessings in this damned trek to this damned voodoo woman’s residence.

Dean hands Castiel the khopesh and grins. “Here she is.”

The thing that impresses Castiel is the dark wood the shanty is made from. Trees weave in and out of it, the house obviously built around the huge trunks and wayward branches. Vines hang down, hanging limply off the awkward angles of the house. Candles burn in the windows.

It isn’t until Dean pokes him and he almost drops the khopesh that Castiel realizes he’s been holding his breath. “Yeah, it’ll do that to you.” He takes back the sickle-like sword, stepping into the small river separating them from the dwelling. “C’mon then.”

The door opens when Dean knocks once. There is a small grin on his face. Castiel’s holding his breath again.

“Winchester,” he hears a whisper. It has a musical tilt, but it ends rough like sandpaper. “You have a present for me.”

“I brought back your belonging.” He’s oddly formal, standing up straight.

Castiel is prone to staring, but he’s sure that this woman gets it a lot. She’s thin, almost impossibly so, but her face still has a healthy glow to it. No bones stand out, but there’s something fragile to her body. Her hair is long, milling about her waist as she waves from side to side. She’s draped herself in long sheets; they slide against the floor with every step she takes. Her eyes are so brown they’re almost black, or perhaps her pupils have dilated so far her irises are hard to see. She stares back at Castiel, and her smile is soft and unnerving. “Breathe, child,” and he exhales. She acknowledges Dean with a nod and the same smile. “Dean.”

“Nausicaa.” He bends on one knee to greet her, and she lightly kisses his forehead.

“You’ve got something that belongs to me.”

When he presents her with the rabbit foot, she gives a happy sigh. “I’ve missed this.” Dean doesn’t say anything, but he closes his eyes when she reaches down to touch his hair, leaning into her touch when her fingers rake through the short locks. “Thank you, Dean.”

Castiel shifts awkwardly. He almost feels like he shouldn’t be here, like this is a private moment. When he looks back at the pair, the priestess is watching him intently. His stomach churns. Butterflies. “Your brother is off on other work?” she asks Dean as her eyes roam over Castiel, taking him in.

“Yes.”

“You’re suspicious.” The woman says it in a teasing way, and rakes her fingers through Dean’s hair again, making his head tilt upward into her touch.

“Yes.”

“You’re sneaky, Dean. Perhaps that is why you are rightfully the elder brother.” She lifts his chin and stares into his eyes. “Leave us.”

He struggles for a moment, frowning, and Castiel can see the cogs turning in his head. It isn’t until she specifies, “I will tell you what you want to know,” that he agrees to get up and leave Castiel behind, closing the door softly behind him. Nausicaa smiles. “He is fiercely protective. It is a good trait.”

“What do you want with me?” He tries to sound defiant, but it comes out as a simple question instead.

She glides up to him. The necklace he thought was made of large beads is actually tiny skulls. Crow skulls? Why did he think they were beads? “Your eyes are beautiful,” she murmurs. “Like when the ocean reflects the sky. You cannot tell which one is which.”

“Nausicaa is in Homer’s _Odyessy_ ,” Castiel finds himself babbling. “She almost resembles a goddess in her features and she assists Odyessus—”

“Hush, child.” When her heard touches his face, his eyes flutter. “Are you frightened?”

“Yes,” he whispers.

“Look at me.” When he hesitates, she says simply, “Don’t make me ask twice.”

Her eyes aren’t brown. They are just a pure ink black in the middle of jaudiced white. “You so quickly abandoned your post. So determined to fall in with this band of men.” The smile dances on her lips. “Tell me why.” When he opens his mouth, she adds, “Don’t lie to me.”

Castiel’s voice is rough, almost as if he hadn’t used it for a long time. “I never wanted that life.”

Her fingers touch his neck and an electric touch races down his spine. A moan spills out of his mouth while she drags the silver ring from its hiding place in his jacket. “Your mother.”

“I heard Uriel say my father was a privateer,” and goddammit, he’s babbling again. “Worked for Britian. They said the Spanish killed him, they often would do away with privateers, especially the British—”

“You want to prove yourself. Despite the fact you are technically still their prisoner.” She puts a hand to his face, and his lips feel warm.

“I can be just as good as they are.”

“You want to bring Zachariah to justice.”

“Yes.”

She mirrors his own head tilt. “What happens when you get justice?”

“I would prefer not to know.”

She doesn’t respond, and merely smiles, staring into his eyes again. “You’re sweet, like sugar. Your mother was right trying to keep you away from this.” He starts to speak but she puts a hand over his mouth. “The first time is free. Next time will require a bounty.” She holds the rabbit foot and nods. “Please bring the Winchester in here.”

“…It’s not just a myth.” Castiel’s lips are tingling.

When she laughs, the tiny skulls bounce off her chest. It sounds like out of tune piano keys. “Bring the Winchester boy here, child.”

Dean looks at him when he comes out. “Not like you expected.”

“She’s like a ghost,” he whispers. “A ghost of someone who know. You want to hear more, but you hate every moment.”

“But you always find yourself coming back,” Dean says.

He goes in and shuts the door quietly behind him. Castiel leans heavily against the door, gasping in air.

When Dean comes back out, there’s a bandage down the length of his right arm, from his elbow to his wrist. Huge blots of blood cover it. Castiel can’t help but ask.

“The price of knowledge,” Dean murmurs. Blood is dripping down his arm, drops falling off his fingers.

“You need more than a simple bandage.”

“Sam will stitch me up,” Dean snaps. “Don’t worry your pretty little head.”

 _Sweet like sugar,_ Nausicaa’s words echo in his head, and he hears her off-key laughter.

\---

Sam frowns. “Dean, this is deep. Did she even clean the blade?”

“I’m _fine_ , Sam, goddammit.”

“You’re sweating.”

“It’s _hot_.”

Sam raises a concerned eyebrow. “I have my jacket on.”

“She wouldn’t hurt me, Sam,” Dean hisses when Sam pours the vodka on the wound. “Jesus Christ, warn a man!”

Sam doesn’t listen, he just threads the needle and undoes his belt. “Bite.” There are already several teeth marks on it already.

Dean’s muted screams echo through the hull.

Castiel is still reeling from his experience with the voodoo priestess; he has asked Andy, Chuck, and the few men that listen to his tales to excuse him for a few moments. He just wanted a few minutes to himself, to try and gather what had happened. Watching her weaving a spell over them both.

Sam is grabbing his jacket and yanks him up from his sitting position so hard the arm of Castiel’s jacket rips wide open. “Tell me what happened.”

“I—what—”

“Dean’s feverish. He’s babbling nonsense.” Sam gives him a good shake, and Castiel feels his teeth click together painfully. “What did she _do_.” It’s worded as a question, but said as a demand.

“I don’t know. I didn’t watch. I was outside.”

“Didn’t you ask him what happened?”

“He just told me it was the price of knowledge.” There is a moment when both men just stare at each other, Sam’s hands clenching Castiel’s jacket. The tips of his feet barely reach the floor. He begins to ask Sam what’s wrong, and then Sam lets him down, dragging Castiel with him by the shoulder.

“Sam,” Castiel says, “Sam. Sam, you are going to dislocate my shoulder. _Sam!_ ”

“What did she ask you?” They keep walking. The ship is empty. Tortuga’s a good place for a rest, and almost all of the crew are out having a good time, captains’ orders. A few watch the ship, but they are all on deck.

“She—”

“Nausicaa.”

“Nausicaa,” Castiel repeats dumbly.

“Yes,” Sam says, yanking him again, “I don’t think you know many women by that name.”

“She asked me about my intentions,” Castiel says. “She did not tell me much. She said next time would cost more.”

They come to a large wooden door. It has lavish carvings marked into it, and before Castiel has time to act, Sam opens the door and throws him in. He catches himself on the table, arm screaming pain. “I’m going to find her. You take care of him.”

“You would trust me to do that?”

Sam’s lips tighten and loosen several times before he decides to say, “If I come back and he’s dead, I won’t just throw you overboard. I’ll hold your head underwater myself until I feel you die.”

Castiel’s pretty determined to keep Dean alive.

\---

He quickly finds out there’s not much he can do as Dean shakes and says things like how he needs Sam, where’s Sam, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. He says a few more names, but Sam is said most often. Castiel silently curses him under his breath, hates him forever. Drags him to see a strange woman, tells him the huge gash on his arm is nothing, and then falls victim to a fever his brother blames him for and will kill him for if Castiel doesn’t take care of him.

“Please,” Dean says, “I did it for you.”

Castiel wants him to shut up. Dean is already probably going to murder him for seeing him like this. He doesn’t need to hear deep, dark secrets from his feverish mouth.

“Don’t do that to me. I couldn’t live without you.”

When Castiel does finally tell Dean to shut up, he mutters it under his breath.

“Sam. Sammy. Where are you?”

“He’s gone,” Castiel says for the hundredth time. He presses a cloth Dean’s forehead to soak up the sweat, and he leans into the touch, gasping for Sam.

There’s a pitterpatter on the window and Castiel realizes it’s raining. _Good._ He cracks open one of the windows, and sets the cloth outside. It’s not cold, but it’s cooler than Dean’s forehead.

Castiel lets it get soaked before he brings it back inside. He kneels next to Dean, touching it to his cheeks, over his lips, across his forehead. Dean groans in relief.

“Don’t die,” Castiel hisses at him. “Not yet, anyway.”

\---

Sam knows how to find Nausicaa. It’s not hard once you know the way.

When he opens the door, she laughs. “Hello, Samuel.”

“No one calls me that.”

“I do.” She looks over her shoulder, almost playfully. “Named after your grandfather. Your brother came to see me but you didn’t.” Strands of hair fall in her face, the skulls clack together as she shifts.

“Dean wanted to keep an eye out. I had other duties to attend.”

“He brought your gift.” She grins. “Dean’s barter was the rabbit foot. Your barter was the boy.”

“He’s as old as Dean or I,” Sam says.

“You wanted to test him. You wanted _me_ to test him.” She clucks her tongue. “You should have told me. I would have done it free of charge.”

Sam watches as she makes her way to stand in front of him. He’s at least a foot taller than her, but her presence is menacing. Disturbing. “I like him,” she says, playing with the buttons on Sam’s jacket. “Responsive. He wants to be part of your game.”

“I knew it.”

She chuckles, and motions that he brings his head lower. Sam indulges her. When she puts her lips to the curve of his ear, a cold, clammy feeling crawls slowly up his back. “He doesn’t say what he wants. What he really wants. Why he’s there.” She gives him enough time to wonder if he should ask why, start to open his mouth to say something. The priestess cuts him off, “All this in good time.”

Her nail runs slowly down his cheek, applying increasing pressure until the skin breaks. “Eyes like the ocean. Like the sky. Have never seen eyes so blue.” She sighs. “Like sapphires when he gets worked up. Excited.”

Sam feels like he’s lost time, because when he blinks she’s already moved away, walking towards a wall filled with mismatched bottles. “But you didn’t come for that. You came for your brother.”

He frowns. “You did something.”

“He asked for a powerful blood spell. I told him it had consequences. He did not care.”

“Please give me something to help him, Nausicaa.”

Her black eyes stare into him, and Sam almost thinks she’s glaring at him. A glare from regular eyes is enough, but with Nausicaa, it’s as if she’s trying to light him on fire. She seems to weigh the options before saying, “I will agree. I like you Winchesters.” She turns back to the wall, touches every bottle, as if her fingers read the labels and not her eyes. “Next time, it will come at a price.” It’s the second-to-top shelf that she stands on the tips of her toes to retrieve the bottle. “Who have you left him with?”

Sam adverts his eyes, and he hears her strange laughter again. “You are looking for ways to trust him. As you first looked for ways to trust me.”

“But it worked, didn’t it?” Sam asks. “Trusting you?”

When she smiles, he can see her teeth are slightly stained around the gums. “Mm. You still should not trust me, Samuel. You merely need to stay in my good graces and I will return the favor.” She presses the bottle into his hand. “You will not give this to Dean tonight. You will let him suffer until tomorrow. He needs punishment.”

Sam doesn’t want to do that, he’d rather give it to Dean when he gets back to the ship, but Nausicaa’s got a knack for knowing things she shouldn’t. “Yes, tomorrow.”

She smiles. “Your blue-eyed boy has far to go. Give him a kiss for me.” This tickles Nausicaa so much she begins to cackle herself into a frenzy, and Sam slowly eases out the door and shuts it behind him. Whew. _Whew._

(They don’t know it was _she_ who gave Dean the fever. After all, she had to get Sam to come, and the quickest way to Sam was his brother.

She doesn’t like Dean dabbling in the darker parts of Voodoo. Perhaps he will remember this night when he would like to attempt another blood spell. Dean was too reckless.)

\---

Castiel has been moving back and forth from the window to Dean for at least a half-hour, wiping the sweat from his face with the cool rainwater. He stopped babbling within fifteen minutes, instead letting out short whimpers periodically, which was infinitely worse. At least Castiel could get annoyed when Dean kept requesting the same things over and over. Now he just felt horrible.

Dean seems to be fitfully asleep for the moment, giving Castiel a chance to look at his arm.

He wishes he could just keep his curiosity to himself, dammit. Dean’s arm has a huge gash in it, the skin around the wound inflamed and bruised. The stitch is actually neat and well-done. If Sam was the one to do it, then he must have had practice sometime or another. Castiel traces the stitches, frowning. The bed smells heavily of alcohol. Probably used to clean the wound.  
Dean grabs his arm painfully, and Castiel jumps in surprise rather than pain.

“Dean,” Castiel says softly, grabbing his wrist lightly. “Dean, let me go.”

“I hate you,” he says through gritted teeth.

“I’ve noticed,” Castiel can’t stop himself from saying.

A shiver runs violently through Dean, and Castiel lets go of his wrist to grab the cloth and sloppily fold it (after all, he is using one hand), placing it on his forehead. “You’re a bastard,” Dean spits.

Castiel scoffs. “Thank you for making me aware of this fact.” With the cool cloth now on Dean’s forehead, Castiel places his fingers lightly over Dean’s on his wrist. “Dean. Please let go.”

“You’re a curse on this ship.”

“Please let my wrist go, Dean.”

“I wish we never found you.”

Dean’s grip is grinding the bones together in his wrist painfully. Castiel grits his teeth and puts his forehead to Dean’s, the cloth between them. “Dean. Dean.” His voice is calm, and his arm jerks in pain. “Let my wrist go, Dean. Let my wrist go and I’ll leave.” Castiel will make an excuse to leave. To go get some water, to get fetch something, anything. He’ll give Dean a few minutes time, and when he comes back, he’ll keep a good distance away.

When Dean’s eyes open, Castiel sees how green they are. Brown around the pupils, fading into green. “I don’t trust you.” His voice is a husky whisper, and his breath smells like alcohol and leather.

“I know.” The tips of their noses are touching. Castiel can see his freckles.

“Why are you still here?”

“I—” He cuts himself off. “I don’t know.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Dean hisses. “You have a reason. We all do.” His eyelashes flutter as he tries to bite back a whimper.

“You brought me here.”

“I’ve given you—” Dean shudders again, and his fingers tighten around Castiel’s wrist painfully before loosening just a bit. Just a bit. “I’ve given you plenty of times to get away.”

“You would have come after me if I ran.”

Dean actually laughs at that. An obviously painful laugh, by the way his eyes squeeze shut for a few moments, but a laugh all the same. “You could have gone back to your life. They would protect you when we came back.”

Castiel closes his eyes, and his mind flashes to Nausicaa, the conversation they had. Suddenly, he feels tired. He just wants to go to sleep. Why couldn’t Sam be back sooner? He lifts his forehead off of Dean’s, the cloth now warm and useless. He should probably go back to the window. But here he is, still too close to Dean with his wrist still throbbing painfully. “I don’t _want_ to go back to them.”

Suddenly, there’s lips next to his cheek. “You want to be here?” Dean’s voice is weak but challenging. He purposefully squeezes Castiel’s wrist again, making him wince.

“Yes.” Dean’s cheek against his is warm and clammy.

“You better prove it.” And Dean lies back against the bed, letting go of his wrist.

Castiel moves, rotating his aching wrist before lifting the cloth off of Dean’s forehead and going back to the window.

\---

When Sam comes back, Castiel’s in a chair beside Dean’s bed, head dipped low in sleep. Dean’s still shaking, but there’s a cloth on his forehead and he’s not babbling every second. His breath is uneven, but at least he’s still breathing.

Sam nudges Castiel, who looks tiredly at him and blinks twice before bolting upright in his chair. “You can go,” Sam says. Castiel’s mouth works but he says nothing, instead choosing to go ahead and escape. Sam sits in the chair, nudging Dean’s shoulder. “Dean. Dean, it’s me.”

Dean’s eyes open slowly and he grins. “Hey, Sammy.”

“You feel better?” Sam’s dripping wet. The storm came upon him swiftly and suddenly, soaking him to the bone. His hair is slicked back from all the times he had to push it off his face in the wind and rain.

“Define better.” He shifts in the bed, wincing when his injured arm moves. “I can think again, at least.”

“I’ve got something for you. I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”

“Fuck no, Sam, I’ll take it now.” Dean tries to make his voice strong and he ends up croaking the sentence out.

“Doctor’s orders,” Sam replies, and Dean groans.

“Hate you for bringing him here, Sam.” It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who Dean’s talking about.

“I know, Dean.”

He stares at his brother. “I’ll give him a chance. If you think he’s worth it, I’ll give him a chance.”

Sam lifts an eyebrow. “Forgive me if I wait until you’re not feverish and delusional.”

Dean snorts a laugh. “Fine. Now stop dripping on my bed.” Oh yeah. Bitch was feeling better for sure.

\---

Her cure isn’t a miracle. Dean still persists with a small fever for another day or so before the crew sees him again. And even then, Sam won’t let him off the boat because he’ll rip his stitches loose. (Dean always says he won’t. Sam always knows better.)

It’s then that Dean almost learns Castiel’s little secret.

They’re docked. Sam’s leading a raid with Victor, and they needed all the men they could get to carry loot. (That and who would want to miss out on a raid?)

Castiel leans over the side of the ship to stare at the inky water below. He’s been trying to stay useful, and has mopped the ship deck. Of course it will be all dirty when everyone comes back, but he’s got nothing else to do. There are only a few books on ship, and they’re all in the captain’s quarters. If Sam were here, he might not mind asking, but Castiel knows for a fact Dean will tell him there are more pressing matters on his goddamn ship that one little book. So he’s been doing little things, things he’s learned from the crew. The stories were a good way to warm them up, and now he’ll ask if he can help them out of their duties. They all agree that he’s a helpful little bitch, which is better than giving him shifty looks and wondering if they could get away with murdering him.

Castiel does not like being referred to as a bitch. He’s eager to prove that he’s just as able as they are in a fight; these men respect bloodshed. He sighs. It’s not a preferred method of gaining a reputation, but if he’s to live this life, perhaps he should get more accustomed to the idea. It’s been almost two weeks since he was first introduced to the ship. It seems like more. Then again, a lot has happened.

When Dean greets him, Castiel yelps, pitching forward. Luckily, Dean grabs him and pulls him back, making Castiel fall on him and they both tumble to the ground. “Easy does it,” Dean mutters.

Castiel frowns and balances on his knees, brushing his jacket off. Good thing he just swabbed the deck. “Hello, Dean.” He almost fell in the water. He feels like he’s shaking. In the water at night. Would he even be saved when he started to drown? Probably best not to think of those things. After all, he was still on the ship.

“Hey.” Castiel doesn’t believe his name is hard to pronounce. Andy says it. Chuck says it. Sam’s said it a couple times. But Dean just doesn’t say it.

“Is there something you needed?”

“I needed some air.” Dean hasn’t been happy being ordered to stay in his room. Castiel imagines he’s been up here a lot when Sam’s away or asleep. Probably mingling with the crew, asking them questions about how the day went, how everything is going, things of that nature. “Saw you, thought I’d be nice since you seem to be sticking around.”

“Thank you for trying,” Castiel says, blinking. Last time he had really seen Dean, he basically told him in a feverish huff to try harder or fuck off. That and, oh yes, that pesky bit about hating him.

“Bobby’s letter came today.” Castiel had no idea what he was talking about until, “He said everything’s okay in your town. Gossip is all about you, of course, but other than that everything seems to be business as usual.” Dean shrugs. “Bobby’s a good guy. He’s reliable.”

Dean watches the warm smile spread on his lips. “Good. I’m glad to know they are doing well.” Castiel looks to Dean and nods. “Thank you for telling me.”

“I know you cared.” Castiel doesn't have to know, but that's one of the reasons Dean didn't throw him overboard in the first place after they had gotten their information, one of the reasons why he's giving him a chance. He's not like the upper class who only give a shit about themselves; Castiel actually understands the value of human life, despite whether he knows them or not. 

“You didn’t have to tell me.”

Dean shuffles uncomfortably, narrowing his eyes. “What are you trying to say?”

“...Nothing, I suppose.” Castiel shrugs, stare unrelenting.

Silence. Castiel lifts up the mop. Well then. Perhaps he’ll get back to wo—

And suddenly Dean’s scimitar is halfway through the wooden handle of the mop, and Castiel jumps back. “Wha—”

“I’m bored,” Dean says simply, grinning. “And you’re the only one on board.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow. “I have a mop. The odds are stacked against me, I think.”

“I promise not to kill you.” When Dean lifts the scimitar from the mop handle and rears back, Castiel steps back and shifts his weight, avoiding Dean’s swing. He grins, and swings the mop to try and smack Dean’s knees to take him off balance. Unfortunately, Dean sees it coming and blocks the blow. “Good try.”

Dean’s so focused on being haughty that he doesn’t see the mop until the wet end is right in his face. He yells his surprise and falls down, much to Castiel’s amusement. “Getting distracted,” Castiel says as Dean wipes his face, dirty mop water dripping off his chin.

“Using your weapon to its full advantage, huh?” Dean grins.

Castiel shrugs, but he’s also got a smile on his face. “I was always told to do the utmost best with what you are given.”

Dean gets back on his feet and brandishes his scimitar. “Let’s try that again.”

Castiel ends up getting a shallow slash down his left arm (it won't need stitches, just a bandage and a good night's sleep) and the fight actually stops when the broom handle meets Dean’s right eye.

He says he doesn’t mind the black eye. Part of the job description. Castiel thinks it’s his way of saying ‘thanks-for-taking-care-of-me-through-my-fever’. (He’d be surprised how close he was to being right about it.)

\---

Sam comes back, sees Dean’s bruised eye. He asks what happened immediately. Black eyes don’t happen when people are nice.

“Had a sparing match,” Dean says, playing it off.

Sam raises an eyebrow. “A sparing match? With…who? Everyone was with m—” He narrows his eyes. “Were you looking to hurt him?”

“…Not really. Maybe a little,” Dean admits. “Not that he let me. Andy’s right, he’s pretty good. Fast.”

“Since when did you become attached to him?” Sam says, hefting their share of the bounty on the table.

Dean picks up a gold-encrusted goblet and examines it. “Thought I’d give him a chance. Thought I told you that.”

“Thought you were still on your fever-high,” Sam counters. “I still don’t believe you.”

“Don’t, do, whatever you want, Sam.” Dean takes a gold ring and slips it on his finger. “Tomorrow we’ll need to talk to him. Bobby found a rough blueprint of Uriel’s place from a few years back that should still be accurate, and we’ve got the twins meeting us at Port Royal.” Dean frowns. “Not my first choice, but they’re the cheapest we got right now and they’re willing to listen.”

Sam groans. “Christ, how many days?”

Dean looks up at the ceiling, calculating. “We’re about a day off from Tortuga…three or four days if we sailed straight on.” He shrugs. “And if we keep up the pace. I told them that it’s possible we could be one or two days late. It’s a good way from here to there.”

“We are _pirates_ , after all.” Sam sighs, picking up a couple golden necklaces and laying them to the side. “We need to get away from the Caribbean for a while. We’ve done too many jobs around this area. Maybe we should port in Florida for a while, even go up a little to the northern colonies.”

“Would be nice to be in the colonies again, if only for a little while.” Dean picks up a gold coin, twirls it in his fingers. “I don’t know. The Spanish Armada’s been a bitch lately, and I don’t want to go too far north.” He flips the coin, manipulating it so it flips across his knuckles. “The crew’s good, but not good enough to take on a whole fleet at once.”

“I don’t want to put them in danger either, Dean.” Sam shrugs. “Maybe we could go visit Dad’s old friend in Charleston.”

Dean flips the coin at his brother, who catches it in one hand and tosses it across the table. “Missouri? The one who says she’s gonna have a state named after her?” He snorts in amusement. “I don’t know why she’d take us in. Widow like that with that amount of money, she doesn’t want people like us in our house.”

Sam’s started to put some of the coins in a small leather purse. “We’ll send out correspondence her way. We’ll need somewhere safe to port after we finish with Uriel. Zachariah will be all over these waters.” The brothers meet eyes. “He’s got more influence than we’d like to admit.”

There’s a pause between them. Dean picks out some of the precious stones and places them into the goblet he picked up from before, sorting the treasure a little. “Think he’s looking for Cas?”

“Probably has got scouts all—” Sam cuts himself off and looks to Dean, who is sorting jewels like nothing happened. “Cas?”

Dean nods. “Yeah, do you think it’s safe for hi—”

“ _Cas?_ ” Sam insists, making Dean tear his attention away from the treasure.

“That’s…what I said.”

“You’re giving him a nickname.”

“No.”

“You just did.”

Dean glares at his brother. “His full name is a fuckin’ joke. I’m not saying it.”

“So you’re giving him a nickname instead?” A smile tugs on the edges of Sam’s lips. “What _happened_ while we were gone?”

Dean takes a handful of coins and throws them at Sam. “Shut the fuck up and bag the loot, bitch.”

It _is_ a good point Dean brings up, and Sam’s thought about it as well. Castiel is a ticking bomb on their ship. Zachariah’s going to hear about Castiel’s disappearance and he’s going to go into a rage. He might not care about Castiel as a person, but he’s primed him to be full of inside information about every operation that Zachariah is part of, and Zachariah would probably (incorrectly) assume that he would be weak under torture and spill the beans. (It probably wouldn’t occur to him—at first—that Castiel was just looking for a way out from Zachariah’s rule.)

No doubt that a couple officers saw Dean prodding Castiel onto the ship with a cutlass, which is obviously a sign that he didn’t go completely willingly. Once word gets out, Castiel’s face will be all over the Caribbean. There will either be a reward for his capture or a bounty for his head, depending on how Zachariah takes the information. Either way, Dean and Sam can’t afford to let him off the ship much longer. Not until they get some place where Zachariah’s influence isn’t as strong and they can breathe safer.

Not to mention when they raid Uriel’s city, then all the crew will probably be hunted. The British armada might be after them then. It’s hard to say what will happen.

The Winchesters end up talking about this for quite a while. (You can say what would like about them, but the fact is they are well-known for being meticulous when it comes to the important things.) They plan on sending a letter to Missouri the next day, letting her know come around a month from now, she might have the chance to harbor fugitives on her plantation. (She probably won’t care; Missouri is much sneakier than the boys ever will be.)

Sam tells Dean that they have to let Castiel know about the situation. Dean snorts and tells Sam he can go ahead and have fun with that. Dean sure as hell isn’t telling them; he has a fast temper, and Castiel is likely to be a smart little bitch when he realizes exactly what ‘confined to the ship’ means.

\---

It’s a regular day at sea. Castiel is surprised how…boring it is. Most of the crew do their jobs—rigging, checking the hull, making sure the weapons were clean and ready, swabbing—and exchange stories or plans or tips. It’s surprisingly calm. The flag flying is a deceptive half-sky blue, half-cream white. (The brothers have a lot of other flags to choose from, depending on their situation. They amassed a collection over the years, but Dean always enjoys it when they get to fly their particular Jolly Roger.)

It’s Donnie teaching him how to read the clouds when Sam calls him to the quarterdeck.  
Castiel suddenly realizes that he really hasn’t spent a lot of time with Sam at all. There was the second day he was on ship that he got to see the more intellectual side of the younger Winchester, but otherwise he’s caught Sam in bad moments. Usually with Sam threatening death. (Castiel still takes these threats seriously, but he knows that Sam will probably give him a chance to explain rather than Dean, who will jab him in the stomach without a second thought.) He’s still a little nervous, and it obviously shows because the first thing Sam says is, “Don’t worry.”

“Is there something wrong?”

Sam shakes his head, and Castiel watches as his bangs flop slightly from side to side. “No, no. We have some floor plans we need you to take a look at.”

Castiel nods. Yes. The reason he was even here. Let’s not forget that. Information. “What do you need to know?”

Sam chuckles. “The plans are on the table downstairs.” He called Jake, who also happened to be the sailing master, up to take the helm.

Castiel had never been the the captains’ quarters before, and it was much larger than he thought. Of course, two captains, he supposes it _would_ need to be bigger to accommodate them.

It’s…surprisingly sparse. He would have expected something more like Victor’s room, with plush velvet chairs and fancy, Baroque-esque picture frames with a fancy rug here or there. It’s…cozy. The chairs might have been expensive at one time, but now they’re marked with knicks and cuts and the fabric is well-worn. The table is covered in different papers, a dagger stabbed into the wood and holding a couple of them down. A surprising number of books are stacked by the windows, and the area below the panes have been carved out into bookshelves. To his left, Castiel can hear the alcohol bottles click as the boat shifts in the water.

“Here,” Sam says in an amused voice, and Castiel blinks, walking over to where Sam is hunched over the table.

“Oh,” Castiel breathes, getting closer to the map. He remembers Uriel’s house fairly well for not having been in it for several years. “That’s where the garden is, to the left side.” He points to it on the map, and scoots closer, brushing up against Sam’s side. “My bedroom was right above it, here. Uriel’s bedroom is all the way at the end of the hall. The servants’ quarters aren’t marked here, but they used to be what would be considered the back of the manor, here, to the right.” He leans forward, face screwed up in concentration.

“We were thinking of sneaking in the basement by the shore over here,” Sam says, his voice low and thoughtful.

“Mm, there were usually guards around the perimeter, at least ten all together.” Castiel shrugs. “You might want to take them all out just to be safe. I would suggest two men per guard, since you can spare them. Then go in through the basement.”

“Where would the most valuables be?”

“Located throughout the house. There are quite a few pieces in Uriel’s bedroom, most of them silks from China and gold and porcelain bowls he likes to catch incense ashes with.” Castiel shrugs. “There’s gold statues, silverware in the kitchen. The jewerly he keeps for his mistresses lie in the bedroom to the right.” He takes the dagger and stabs it in the correct location. “You’ll find most of what you probably want there. He likes to appear rich, and his favorite way of indulgence in that trait was to bring women home. He would boast to spreading out gold coins out of the bed and having his way with prostitutes on them.” A small laugh bubbles up from his throat.

Sam glances sideways. “What?”

“It’s just…” Castiel turns his head slightly to look at Sam, smiling. “The girls and boys would often come downstairs. I used to stay up late, mill around in the kitchen early in the morning. They would find me, flirt with me.” He tilts his head slightly. “I always thought they just needed a friend. Of course, I was around twelve at the time.” His face becomes thoughtful. “It’s not like I was a sociable child, but I would always share company with them.”

Sam watches Castiel’s face as he remembers, so close to his own. He was really warm. Sam could feel his body heat through both their clothes. Some people ran hot, Sam just guessed Castiel was one of them. Sam’s surprised he’s not married. Usually the upper class preferred to marry young. But Castiel was good-looking. _Pretty_ , even. With wide blue eyes and full lips, he was obviously destined to wear a nice, pressed suit and have to go to governor’s balls and attend important functions where everyone was well-to-do and never had to worry about things like how many men to send out to take out a certain number of guards—

And he thought about how wonderful his lips would look after they’d been kissed for a while, puffy and pink and Sam couldn’t decide what kind of look Castiel would have in his eyes, would it be wanton or would it be enticing, asking for more—sapphire, she had said, his eyes look like sapphire when he’s excited—

“Sam?” Castiel asks, aware that the larger man is pressing closer to him, shifting his weight.

Sam blinks, and he’s much, _much_ too close to Castiel. An awkward smile and he backs up, goes around the table. Castiel watches him, a confused look on his face. “So you think that most of the valuables are in Uriel’s bedroom and the bedroom beside his?”

“The one to the right, yes.” He motions to where the dagger lies on the map. “Perhaps Dean will know the fastest way?” Castiel offers. “What is he doing?”

“Off playing cards and conning some poor crew members off their loot.”

Castiel shakes his head. “Wouldn’t they know better?”

“’Course they do,” Sam replies, keeping Castiel’s stare as he lifts the dagger from the table, “but that doesn’t stop them from thinking that one day they’ll be beat him.”

Sam watches him closely and Castiel shifts in place. He feels a little awkward. It’s the way Sam’s looking at him. He’s obviously inquisitive about this weird man from Zachariah’s inner circle helping him but there’s something…Something flashes underneath the simple curiosity. Something sharp and dark, the kind of looks he’s seen women given to the men in the tavern when they’re looking for something.

Castiel’s painfully aware his cheeks are warm. He doesn’t like thinking about that kind of subject. He’s never been good at…those kind of relations. He wishes he was more smooth when it came to that.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” Castiel says a little too quickly. “Not about what needs thinking, at any rate,” he adds, tapping the map.

A small grin flashes on Sam’s face before he screws up his nose. “We’ll figure out the teams later, when we’ve hit Port Royal. See if we can’t call in favors.”

“I have never been to Port Royal,” Castiel says, and sure, he’s a little excited. Maybe he’ll actually be able to mingle and search around this time, now that he’s on relatively safe ground with both captains.

“You’re not going.”

“Excuse me?”

Sam frowns. “You can’t get off the ship.”

“And why not?” Castiel demands. Andy was right. Push the right button and Castiel’s temper went right through the roof.

“Zachariah will be looking for you. He’ll have a high price on your head.”

“I could wear something different, blend in.” He thinks for a few seconds. “I could wear something of Dean’s, or Andy’s, or even perhaps something from Chuck.”

“You’d be putting everyone in danger.”

“They might not have gotten the message yet,” Castiel argues. This is ridiculous.

“Dean and I agreed we’re not putting our crew on the line just because you want to romp in a new playground,” Sam continues, suddenly glad he has the dagger.

“I am not your plaything to leave at home as you please.” His voice is cold and it stings like ice. “You can’t just bring me when it suits your needs and leave me on the ship when it doesn’t.” His eyes flash, dark and dangerous. “I have been good about being left on the ship so far. I would desire to walk on land and stretch my legs at the next port.”

“No.”

It sends a thrill through Sam, to watch as Castiel’s face flushes and emotions rip through his features. “Then you had better lock me up, because I’m leaving the ship.”

Sam shrugs. “That’s up to you.”

A horrible grin reaches Castiel’s lips. “I’ll fight you.”

Sam frowns. Great. Now he’ll have to drag him kicking and screaming and Dean is off playing his stupid card games.

\---

Sam does get him in the cell. He gets a slash across his cheek, a nice gash in his shoulder and no doubt a couple of good bruises all over his body. Oh, and a good bite mark on his neck. He’s a fighter, that’s for damn sure. Nice to know. Hell to deal with.

When Dean sees him later, he raises an eyebrow. “Cas?”

“I hate you,” Sam answers.

Dean laughs. “He’s a little spitfuck, isn’t he?” He leans against the chair he sits in, puts his hands behind his head. “Kind of magical, don’t cha think? Out of all the little upper-class twats, we get the scrapper.”

Sam throws a book at Dean. He manages to hit the side of his brother’s forehead. Of course, that ensures Dean climbing across the table to punch Sam in the face, but it was worth it.

Ron brings him dinner in the cage. Castiel accepts it. “Thank you, Ronald.”

“You’re the only one that calls me that,” he says, blinking.

“I’m…sorry?” Castiel says, staring back at him. Ron doesn’t say anything, and for a few awkward seconds, both men just stare at each other. Castiel nods, and turns around. All right then.

“It’s fine,” Ron says. “It’s just different.” He shuffles around, and Castiel thinks he’s going to say something else but he just stands there, looking at him.

Castiel takes a small bite of the hard biscuit and stares at Ronald. It’s like Ron doesn’t know what to do. He obviously is sticking around for more of a conversation, perhaps, but he doesn’t know how to go about it. Castiel gives him an opener, “Is there something you needed, Ronald?”

“The guys have been talking about you. Say you helped save Dean’s life a couple times.”

Castiel snorts. “I have only been around when he’s acting like a moron. It seems to happen often.”

“Still, you didn’t kill him.” Ron grins. “Went with Bela, you could have probably killed him.”

“I…I don’t have any reason to kill him,” Castiel says, tilting his head.

When he sits down in his cell, Ron sits down as well. “Most people on the ship don’t need a reason.”

“I do.”

“I like you.”

Castiel blinks. “Thank you, Ronald.”

“Some of them don’t. They say you need to be thrown overboard.” Castiel doesn’t think Ronald notices him get a little pale at the thought. “But I think you’ve done a good job.” More silence. Castiel thinks this is the most Ron has spoken in a while. Usually he’ll laugh or give short answers; Ron used to talk a lot, but the crew teased him mercilessly, so now he just prefers not to speak. (That’s what Andy says.) Ronald keeps immaculate count of everything brought on board, and both brothers appreciate that talent when they have a hard time keeping track themselves. “Do you want to stay here?”

“Huh?” Castiel swallows the food he had been chewing.

Ron looks at him and lifts an eyebrow. “You aren’t going anywhere. You’re trying to make friends. Do you want to stay here?”

This question has been coming up an awful lot, it seems. Castiel makes a point to put his food down and think carefully about what he’s going to say. “Ronald, I’m not a fan of the life I was leading. I left trapped and stuck in a place that didn’t really want me but would be willing to use me.” He looks upward, staring at the bars of his cell. “I don’t consider any place home. I figure if no one wants me here, I’ll go ahead and do my job so I won’t be murdered and then find somewhere else to go.” To be honest, Castiel hadn’t considered leaving the ship for good. Of course he was going to give Sam and Dean the information they wanted—he might have not wanted the life Zachariah forced upon him, but that didn’t mean he was suicidal, either. Although they could be deceptively nice at times, it didn’t change the fact that they had kidnapped Castiel and had him on this ship to serve a purpose.

“Sam says you aren’t to leave the ship.”

Castiel scowls. “Yes. Apparently I’m too much of a risk to bring on shore.”

“But you wouldn’t do anything to hurt the crew, would you?”

“…No, Ronald.” He makes sure to meet his eyes. “I’ve actually been treated surprisingly well, to be honest.” It made sense, though. If everyone was pleasant, of course Castiel would give them the information they wanted and probably some that they didn’t. Fear is a good motivator. Love is an even more powerful one.

“Okay.” He grins. “Knew you were a good guy underneath all that shine.”

Castiel looks at Ron, puzzled. Before he can ask what brought that particular conversation on, Ronald has walked away.

When he finds the lockpick in the next biscuit, Castiel understands. Might as well learn some skills if he’s going to stay on this ship.

\---

Sam and Dean come to visit him in the cell the next few days, take mental notes to the places Castiel refers to. Apparently he’s too tricky to let out of his small little hole, even when the ship is surrounded by water.

Castiel practices with the lockpick. It turns out that Jake is pretty handy with lockpicks, and maybe Ron talked to him or something because he gives Castiel a few pointers to help him along.

The day before they port, Castiel manages to spring the cell door open. He’s smart enough not to walk anywhere or do anything, he just closes it as softly as he can.

Then he does it again. Practice makes perfect, his teachers always said. Doubt they would expect Castiel would be applying it to these activities.

They dock at Port Royal by sunset. The place is wild and exciting. The Caribbean is a fairly lawless place, but Port Royal is the height of sin. Whores, pirates, cutthroats of any type milled around constantly, and god help anyone who mingled with them.

(It’s no wonder they don’t want Castiel to come out with them.)

The twins said they’d meet Sam and Dean in the Soggy Dog, and they make sure to tell Vic that if they’re not back at the goldsmith’s place in a half-hour or so, go ahead to the tavern and check if they are still there. (Usually business has been smooth with them, if the twins get what they want. But they’ve been known to cause more than a little trouble.)

It’s the girl who greets Sam first, sliding up to him and intertwining their fingers. Her eyes are a mixture of grey and brown, dirty blond hair up in a tight bun, letting her messy bangs fall loose on her forehead. Stray strands curl by her cheeks and around the nape of her neck. She’s more handsome than beautiful, but her movements are cat-like and seamless. “Can always pick you out, Sam,” she says, grinning at him.

“Where’s Alex?”

She pulls on his hand. “We’ve got a special booth in the back for you two.” Dean and Sam exchange looks. They told the pair that this was a special job for them, that it was very important. Although it did stress that getting the materials they needed was a crucial step, it let the twins know that they could possibly take advantage of the situation.

Alex sits in the booth, a bottle of tequila and four shot glasses on the table. The same dirty blond hair, the same brown-grey eyes. They even have the same face, only on Alex it’s more feminine than masculine, really. Dean grins. “See you’ve been expecting us.”

“We know what you like,” Alex says, waving his hand to the two empty seats. Lexa sits down beside her brother on his left, Dean takes the seat to the right, and Sam sits across from him. When the twins sit next to each other, the effect of the similar features can be a little bit confusing. There are differences, of course—Alex’s cheekbones are more pronounced, Lexa’s lips are a bit more pouty and her face is more round—but it’s strange and they’ll use it to their advantage.

“You’ve been secretive of what you want us to procure,” Lexa says, smiling at Dean as she pours the shots. “We’ve been quite interested in what you’re looking for.”

“If we can even get it,” Alex adds.

Castiel wishes he could thank Andy for the eyepatch and the low-sitting hat when he sits down in the booth next to the brothers so he can listen in on the conversation. He ordered a beer from the bar so he wouldn’t look _completely_ suspicious, but he’s intrigued to know the next steps. He could have probably just followed Andy or Chuck or even Ron or Jake, but Castiel really doesn’t have anything to do here except mill around. And maybe he would just happen to mill around where he could gain more information.

“First, we’re looking for uniforms,” Dean starts.

“Easy enough,” Alex replies. “How many?”

“Enough for the crew.” Lexa and Alex exchange looks, and Lexa shrugs, giving Dean the okay to go on. “We also need materials for explosives. Gunpowder, pitch, sulfur, fuses, saltpeter—”

Lexa laughs and there is a pause as she downs her shot. “Hold on there, sweetheart. How much material are we talking about?”

“Pounds of it,” Sam answers. “At least a few hundred pounds, hopefully.”

Alex takes a shot, thunks his glass on the table as Lexa fills it. “A few _hundred_ pounds? Are you boys starting a war or something?”

Dean barks out a laugh. “You could say that.”

“Pitch and saltpeter, those are easy enough to get,” Lexa admits, “they’re used all the time. The more common materials, that won’t be too difficult to explain. But sulfur? Gunpowder? Couple hundred pounds of that stuff will be hard to smuggle, even for our amazing talents.”

“That’s why we came to the best,” Sam says, and Castiel hears him make a sound as she pinches his cheek.

“Well, aren’t you two just adorable.”

Dean takes a shot and Alex leans in his direction. “And just how are you willing to pay for this?”

“You know we’re good for it,” Dean says.

“Mm, yes, we do,” Lexa admits. “Do you have all your payment now?”

“We only have enough for half right now,” Sam says, looking to his brother. “The rest we can get to you after the job is done.”

Alex smiles. “Perhaps we can think of other ways of payment.”

There’s a heavy silence. Castiel takes a sip of beer and winces. It’s kind of disgusting. Then again, he wasn’t really paying attention to what he was given, only making sure that he had something in his hand when he went to take a seat. “I thought that was a one-time deal,” Dean says.

“Aww, didn’t you have fun, though?” Lexa purrs, and Castiel tilts his head as he stares at his beer.

“Might of had fun but you guys are just a little too wild for us.” His tone is more harsh that the words would give away.

Castiel can hear the smile in Alex’s voice. “You certainly seemed to enjoy it.”

It’s Sam who responds this time. “Maybe. Until you get back to your ship and realize there are bruises on your thighs and teeth marks all over your back.”

“You offered your bodies to us for payment,” Lexa says, brushing Sam’s statement aside. “It’s not like we cut you or whipped you.”

“A body can only take so much, Lexa.” Dean’s words compete with the thumping of glasses on the table. Someone (it sounds like Sam) makes a displeased noise.

“We’ll be nicer this time,” Alex replies.

Castiel feels his anger right in the back of his throat. They are obviously saying no, but the matter keeps getting pushed. They do not deserve to be treated like common prostitutes. He never liked to see people twisted in someone’s grasp; obviously they had half the payment. The twins could suggest another type of payment, perhaps, offer to take some goods or something. Bartering sex…how barbaric.

Of course, Castiel never thought that this was _Port Royal_ and he was in the company of ruffians who took whatever they could get.

“70 to 30,” Dean offers. “We’ll give you most of the payment now, the rest when we get it.”

“I like our plan,” Lexa pouts. “We hardly get good men these days.”

“We’ll pay for the shipments as they come in,” Sam suggests.

“No,” Alex replies. Now that it’s out in the open, they’re stuck on it. “It won’t be long, boys, and we could work around your schedule.”

Lexa puts her hand on Sam’s arm. “And we’ll switch this time. I know you boys don’t have a preference to gender, do you? And my brother and I look alike anyway, it shouldn’t be too hard to get it up for either of us.”

Before the brothers can offer something else or the twins can keep turning down whatever plan they think off, Castiel turns around and pours the rest of his appalling beer (which is relatively all of it since he’s only taken a couple of sips) on the nearest twin, who happens to be Lexa, and the rest of the men jump up in surprise.

“Disgusting,” Castiel hisses and Lexa shrieks and leaps at him, managing to claw the side of his face with the eyepatch on it. Castiel didn’t anticipate either twin reacting that quickly, so it’s no wonder she knocks him to the floor, cursing him as she struggles to get her fingers around his throat. (The eyepatch, thankfully, saves him from losing his eye.) Despite the Soggy Dog being known for its rough brawls, Alex tries to get his sister to calm down, albeit a little lamely. The boys know Alex likes a good fight and his sister is quite the scrapper.

Castiel’s temper is raging, and he fights back just as hard. When he finally gets a punch to Lexa’s jaw, that’s when Alex steps in to drag her back as she spits and screams.

Sam and Dean probably wouldn’t have known it was Castiel if his hat wasn’t knocked off, but it’s on the floor beside the battered beer-stein and his hair sticks out every which way. He stares at the two brothers, who thankfully recover faster than he does. “Wonder what you did to make him mad, Lexa,” Dean says as Sam grabs Castiel’s arm, hoisting him up.

Lexa spits out a mouthful of blood and glares. “Others have died for less.”

“We’re going to be in port for a while, Alex,” Sam says, yanking Castiel painfully. “How about we meet up in a little while, discuss the terms without distractions?”

“Fine,” Alex says, and Castiel has the uncanny notion that Alex is memorizing his looks. “Think about what you want and then come back. We’ll be here later tonight.”

“We’ll deal with this one-eyed bastard in the meanwhile,” Dean chirps happily, and suddenly Cas is doubled over in pain, gasping for the air that escaped his lungs in a rush. He hears Dean whisper in his ear, “You’re a fucking idiot.”

Lexa starts to disagree, but Alex drags her away. Sam drags Castiel out of the Soggy Dog as Dean follows.

Luckily, there is plenty of jungle and beach area around the bustling city that they can escape to without having to drag Castiel back to the ship. Sam lets Castiel down roughly, frowning. “Who let you out of the cell?” Dean leans on a rouge palm tree whose branches loom over the sand.

Castiel keeps an arm around his middle. “No one.”

“You trying to say you picked the lock?” Dean barks out a laugh, and he gives an slightly amused look to Sam when Castiel affirms the sentence with a nod. “Can you believe that, Sammy?”

“Told you not to get off the ship,” Sam continues.

“Are you serious? You think I’m going to listen to that stupid order?” Castiel spits out. “You’ll threaten death, but you won’t kill me. Not yet.”

“Why did you pour beer on Lexa?” Dean asks, raising an eyebrow.

Castiel blinks. Even with his eyes adjusted, it’s hard to read their expressions in the dark. “What?”

“Well, _something_ prompted you into action.” He turns so that his back sits against the thick, strange palm truck, arms crossed in front of his chest. “You had been sitting there for who-knows how long until she said something to set you off.”

Castiel flushes, and since the brothers can’t see, Sam urges on, “Did you do this to get revenge for being locked up? To piss us off?”

“No,” Castiel snaps.

“Then why did you do it?” It’s amazing how they can sound so frustrated yet keep themselves in such close check.

Castiel looks to the side. “I do not need to tell you.”

Dean laughs for a second time, and again it’s humorless. “Yes, you do. You might have just upped our ante on this deal, or worse, ruined it completely. They may be complete bastards, but they _are_ willing to deal. So I hope you have a damn good reason why you put that in jeopardy.”

“I—” Castiel starts, and cuts himself off. Both Sam and Dean watch as he shifts in the sand, trying to figure out how to word his thoughts. “They were perverse and disgusting. I poured the beer on the nearest one of them, and that just happened to be the lady.”

When they don’t answer, Castiel realize they’re still waiting for more of an explanation. “I didn’t like how they were treating you.”

Sam scoffs. “How they were treating us?”

“Like you were whores,” Castiel says, and there goes his temper again. “You came to them as businessmen and you even had half the payment, but instead of bartering goods or perhaps even limiting the supplies to fit the payment you offered, they immediately disregarded everything for sex.”

“We’ve done it before,” Dean says flippantly. “It’s not like it was a surprise that they brought it up.”

Castiel huffs. “It’s disrespectful. You deserve more than to be treated like sloppily-dressed women outside a tavern. You are _captains_ of a ship!” He can’t stop himself from rambling. “You’re Winchesters! Just your reputation or your father’s reputation should have them thinking twice!” He’s yelling now. “It’s ridiculous and they should know better!”

“Cas,” Dean is saying, and suddenly his arm is on Castiel’s in a gentle grip. “Cas, you’re yelling.”

Castiel tilts his head, face flushed and obviously startled from being yanked out of his tirade. “Wha—”

“Not a lot of people know our last name,” Sam says. “We try not to use it when we have to deal with people. We prefer they just know us as a couple of men that happen to captain a ship.”

Castiel pauses, and looks between Dean and Sam. “I…didn’t know.”

“Ever think we didn’t want you to come here because we thought you couldn’t handle it?” Dean says, and his voice is uncharacteristically soft. “This is where all the bastards of the world go. They eat people like you for breakfast.”

“You could have shown me. Let some of the crew take me through the city,” Castiel offers angrily.

Sam shakes his head. “And you would have kept yourself in check? Think Chuck or Andy could keep you in check? Why would you want to come out here anyway?”

Castiel starts to blurt out his answer, that he _wants_ to learn, he wants to _know_ , that since he’s here he might as well toughen up, but he bites his lip and stops himself. They don’t care. He’s just a tool to them. “I don’t know.”

He forgets Dean’s holding his arm until Dean squeezes it, drawing Castiel’s attention. “You know. You’re just not telling us.”

“You don’t care,” and his voice drops down low. Sam has to move closer to hear him over the waves lapping onto the shore. “You’re going to use me then throw me away. I shouldn’t have to explain my motives to you.”

Surprisingly, they both look hurt. They’re close enough to him that he can see their faces in the little bit of moonlight, and Castiel watches them, confused. Surely he was just stating a fact? He imagined they might be surprised that he blurted out their real motives, but not this hurt.

“Why do you look like that?” Castiel asks, partly unaware that he’s even saying it. Is this a dream? This cannot be real. They look sad, disappointed, angry. Like they were scorned by someone close to them.

There’s a long pause. “Let’s get you back to the ship,” Dean says.

Castiel is so confused and startled that he follows them without a word.

\---

Sam gives Dean the keys to the cells, tells him he’ll wait outside. The last Castiel sees of Sam, he’s fiddling with the hat Castiel wore to the Soggy Dog. “Are you going back there?” he asks Dean.

“We have to meet the twins again, see if they’ll deal.”

“…Will you give them what they desire from you?” Dean doesn’t answer. “Dean,” Castiel says, trying to spur a response.

All he receives is, “You should call me ‘captain’.” There’s a pause from behind Castiel, and then he hears Dean spitefully add on, “You shouldn’t refer to Sam and I like we _care_.”

“Being put in a cell for several days makes me believe you could think less about me,” Castiel points out.

Dean doesn’t answer.

And there’s home away from home, his cramped little room with bars all around. Castiel doesn’t feel like fighting. His cheek still aches with Lexa’s scratches, and it stings from the salt in the air. The blood has run down his neck and dried. His middle still groans with pain from Dean’s punch to his abdomen. He walks into the cell and stares at Dean. “I won’t get off the ship.”

Dean leans against the metal door. “Can’t take that risk.”

“I promise you,” Castiel continues, “I will not get off the ship. I would prefer not to be locked up again.”

“Not an option.”

“Dean,” he says, and Dean gives him that hurt look again, as if Castiel has told him someone close to Dean had passed away. “Please.”

And then he does actually step into the cell and much too close to Castiel. Dean’s eyes run over Castiel’s face, like he’s searching for something. He smells like cedar and smoke and sweat. He looks like he does want to say something, and Castiel waits for him to speak.

Castiel has never felt the urge to kiss someone before. Maybe, for a few seconds, but never this long. He just hates this look. He can handle Dean’s anger. But this sad, defeated little look like he’s longing for something…really, Castiel has to lean forward just a little bit and they would be kissing, and the idea of Dean’s lips against his kind of sends a warm feeling melting down his spine.

Dean reaches up and interrupts Castiel’s thoughts, fingertips lightly brushing over Castiel’s cheek and the bridge of his nose as he removes the eyepatch from Castiel’s head. “Dean,” Castiel says, the name catching in his throat. “Don’t lock me in here.”

“But I don’t care, do I, Cas?” He backs away and Castiel wants to reach out and grab him, pull him back. Maybe not a kiss, maybe just a touch, just something and then he can tell Dean that he does want to be here, he wants to be a part of this crew, he wants to know everything he can, he’s here because of them, please Dean—

And then the cell door clicks shut. Dean sighs, and there’s the same expression that Castiel is finding himself hating. Castiel walks up to the cell door, wraps his hands around the bars. “You do care. I see that you care.” The nickname, when did Dean ever bother coming up with a silly nickname? He hadn’t heard it before. “I am just finding it hard to read you two correctly.” Castiel sighs, and rests his forehead against the cool metal bars. “I don’t know what you want of me. If you told me, I would at least understand.”

Castiel thinks he feels a hand ruffling his hair, but when he looks up, Dean’s already rounded the corner and his boots are thunking up the stairs.

\---

Dean’s got the eyepatch on when he walks back over to meet Sam. “Was he okay about it?”

Dean shrugs. “He was confused.”

“Why do you have his eyepatch on?”

“I’ll say we took care of the bastard who poured drinks on Lexa,” Dean says, flicking the patch up and down, “and that I’m wearing this as a celebration of his death.”

Sam sighs. “You think he’s going to leave the ship?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

Dean nods. “Yeah.”

They start walking, boots clunking on wood and then on the cobbled streets of the city. “Kind of got to you, didn’t it?” Sam murmurs.

Dean kicks a rouge stone out of the way before he steps on it. “What do you mean?”

“You care about the fact he didn’t think we gave a shit about him.”

“…You care too.”

“Of course _I_ care.” Sam glances at his brother out of the corner of his eye. “But it seemed to hit you pretty hard.”

Dean scowls. “Whatever, Sam.”

“Dean.”

“Drop it,” he growls.

The rest of the walk to the Soggy Dog is filled only with the sounds of the city surrounding them.

\---

Castiel wakes to boots thunking on the stairs. He’s sure it’s not morning yet, but he’s not completely certain. After all, down here there are no windows and the wood is tightly sealed so no water can get in. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he dozed off. When you fall asleep, time passes differently. Dean’s unlocking the door and he asks, “Did the deal go all right?” He doesn’t ask if he’s ruined it or not.

The door creaks when it opens, and Castiel starts to stand when Dean actually kneels down to his level and Castiel feels Dean’s hand on either side of his face. “You think we don’t care?”

Of all the answers to Castiel’s question, he didn’t expect the sudden change of subject. Castiel sputters. “I—”

“You don’t know a goddamn thing about us,” he snarls. His finger curl painfully into Castiel’s hair.

“I don’t underst—” he starts to say, and then Dean pushes his lips to Castiel’s and everything kind of gets lost.

It’s not as rough as he would expect, Dean’s mouth against his. He’s urgent but teasing, pressing open mouthed kisses again and again and again until Castiel gets frustrated, wrapping his fingers around Dean’s wrists and pushing back, pushing _harder_. Castiel surprises himself by licking questioningly into Dean’s mouth, and when Dean lets out a small moan of approval, Castiel pushes him back, taking them both off balance.

With Dean’s hands no longer on the side of his head, Castiel is able to move more freely, and he can’t help himself. He lets Dean pull him forward by his jacket, lets himself be pulled on top of Dean. “Cas,” he moans, and Castiel feels a wanting gnawing at the pit of his stomach. He sighs into Dean’s mouth, lets Dean’s hands wander down to his hips. He feels Dean’s fingers dig into his sides and Castiel arches into the touch, whimpering when Dean growls against his neck and bites softly.

“Dean, Dean, _please_ ,” he babbles, and Dean murmurs something to him, licking up his neck when he pulls their hips together and _grinds_ and _oh_ —

That’s when Castiel bolts awake.

The cell door is still locked firmly in place, and no one is in sight. Thank God no one is in sight. Castiel sighs and shifts. He can still feel how hard he is and places a hand down to gently push against it, letting his head fall back against the floor when he groans. For Christ’s sake.

How ridiculous. How _embarrassing_. To have a dream like that is bad enough, but to have it about one of the Winchesters? _Pull it together_ , Castiel tells himself, stretching. He’s not going to have these kind of thoughts about either of them.

They are…attractive. He won’t deny that. But they’re also dangerous and calculating. Castiel goes over in his head about how he does not want to start that, this is just a _dream_ and sometimes you can’t control your dreams and it’s not like he wants it to happen—

But it’d be nice, he thinks. To be desired like that. He never has, not really. Well, perhaps, but not by anyone he was interested in. Castiel has often thought about romantic relationships; they’ve intrigued him, but he never felt the need to seek one out. He had been physically attracted to a couple people, but never to the point he went out of his way to court him. Besides, why bother? He knew that he would eventually be subject to an arranged marriage anyway. Well, he was going to be. Not anymore. Now he was free to go after anyone of his choosing.

And, he carefully remembers to amend, that list of people would not include the Winchesters. _So stop thinking about this, Castiel,_ he mentally scolds himself. _It was a dream. It’s not real, it doesn’t reflect any emotions. It’s just your brain thinking and your body reacting._

 _Sure, Cas,_ he hears Dean say in the back of his mind. _It’s just your body and your brain saying you need a good fuck._

He buries his head in his hands and lets out an annoyed sound. These Winchesters were never going to leave him alone.


	3. Preparing. The Chimera. A decision about Castiel and the next player in this game.

### Chapter III

 _Thank God for small favors,_ is the first thing Castiel thinks of when Sam comes down the stairs and not Dean. Unfortunately, Castiel still gets up too quickly, goes to the bars too eagerly, fingers wrapping around the cool metal. “Did everything go all right?” he asks.

Sam nods as he moves to the door, taking out the key. “We claimed we killed the man with the eyepatch and threw him in the water. Dean said that we’d take half of what we needed now and pay for it, and then come back with more when we could take the rest.”

Castiel steps back to Sam can open the door. “So you didn’t sell yourselves, correct?”

“No.” Sam watches as a tiny smile finds its way onto Castiel’s lips.

“I’m glad, Sam.” He blinks and shakes his head. “Captain. I mean Captain.”

“Huh?”

“Dean said last night I should refer to you both as Captain,” Castiel says, and he ignores the little pain in his chest. It’s like taking a step backward. Out of all the steps backward Castiel seems to have taken lately, this one just cuts close to home. Perhaps it was that stupid dream. He’s not sure, he doesn’t want to think about that anymore than he has to. “I’m sorry I have not done so from the beginning.”

“Cas,” and there’s that little nickname again, “you don’t have to.” Sam tries to smile and it just comes out awkward and a little embarrassed. “You’re fine.”

“No, it’s a bad habit and I need to break it.” He stands up straight. “I’m sorry, Captain.”

Sam makes a mental note to shove Dean’s face in a bucket of pitch when they see him. “It’s all right.”

“Where are we going?”

“Upstairs. We need your advice on where to plant the bombs.”

Castiel nods. “Yes, Captain.”

Goddammit. Thanks, Dean. Thanks for taking this progress back ten thousand steps. Sam’s going to push him into the pitch and then feather him. This is so stupid.

\---

If Castiel’s gathered anything from this, it’s that the Winchesters are meticulous planners. They have a huge weakness, and it’s the fact that they care about their men. They don’t like to lose people, so they make elaborate plans for big jobs. They’ve lost a few over the years, but they’re fiercely protective of their men.

Sam offers him a chair, and Castiel declines. Dean looks up at him once from his seat at the table, and then not again.

As Sam goes over what they’ve pieced together so far, Castiel interjects every once in a while and either tells them something useful or something they’ve overlooked. All in all, he’s impressed. With the knowledge of the inner workings of the manor and the basic layout of the building, they’ve done well in creating a plan. (Of course, they’ve had a while to work out the kinks, what with sailing from place to place.) Castiel leans back and examines the map, going over everything in his head. He takes a few minutes, and then looks to the brothers. “I think it’s going to go all right. You might want to send someone to scout to make sure my information is correct. It has been a while since I’ve been to the place.”

Dean nods. Castiel frowns. Dean hasn’t said anything the whole time. Sam’s been responsive, almost friendly, even. He figures he might as well ask. “What will I do?”

Dean actually makes some damn eye contact. Sam’s brow furrows as he asks, “What do you mean?”

“Am I to stay on the ship or will I be allowed to go on this?”

To their credit, they actually do exchange looks and seem like they’re giving this a little thought. “It’s probably better if you stay on the ship.”

“Wonderful,” Castiel says sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “Am I to be locked up this time as well?”

“Can we trust you?” Dean asks, looking up at him. His eyes are surprisingly fierce.

“What?”

“Can we trust you?” Dean repeats.

How absurd. Of course they can trust him. “I’ve done nothing to prove otherwise.”

Dean stares at him a moment more and then up to Sam. “What about you?”

“…We won’t lock him up.” When Sam looks over to Castiel, Dean does as well. “Stay on the ship this time.”

“I will.” And he feels earnest about this. They are giving him trust, and Castiel finds he really does want it. He tries not to show too much eagerness about this development, but some of it sneaks out anyway. After all, he's worked hard and it's obvious they're still doubtful, so Castiel will gladly grasp for any step forward.

Dean looks up to Sam. “We’re a few days away from port. Bobby’s going to meet us at the next stop.”

Sam grins. “Good. I’ll be glad to see him. We can run this by him.”

“If you don’t mind,” Castiel murmurs, “I’ll take my leave.”

Dean lifts his chin up when he stares at him. “Go.”

“Thank you, captains,” Castiel says primly, looking hard at Dean. They both watch as he walks out, and then Sam gives Dean a hard slap on the back of his head.

“For _fuck’s_ sake, Sam! You almost knocked me off the goddamn chair!”

“You’re an idiot,” Sam hisses, “and a woman. First you don’t trust him, then you bring him everywhere with you. You say you’re going to give him a chance and then you brush him off again and, worse, you tell him to call us _captain_.” Dean glares at Sam as he stands up, rubbing the nape of his neck. “I thought we were going to bring him onto the crew. Slowly work him into the steps.”

“He’s a devious little fucker,” Dean spits.

Sam just stares at his brother for a few moments, blinking a few times. “What the hell? He actually tried to defend us.” He shrugs. “It’s a good start.”

“He doesn’t get to tell me my emotions and then try to act forgiving the next day.” Dean pours himself a shot of tequila—bad news—and roughs it down without any ceremony.

“He’s given us intel. Stole the rabbit foot for us, helped you when you had your fever, dragged you back when you were bleeding both time you decided to take him out on errands, and he fought for what honor he thinks we have in one of the shadiest bars we’ve ever been to.” Sam narrows his eyes at his brother. “He deserves a little trust.”

Dean pours himself another shot and downs it just as quick. Hell, it’s making _Sam’s_ throat burn just watching him. “I think it’s all a little too much. Once Uriel is taken care of and we move on to Zachariah, _then_ I’ll give him a little more of a chance. Once he’s goddamn proven himself.”

Another shot pours, and Sam grabs his hand before he can down it. “Stop, Dean.” Sam slowly lowers Dean’s hand. “ _Stop._ ”

Dean sighs and looks at Sam. “It’s too familiar. And I hate him for that.”

Sam remembers the story. So eager to please, so eager to prove himself to _her_. “He doesn’t know, Dean. He doesn’t know about Cassie.” Dark skin and such bright eyes. “…Is that why you gave him that nickname?”

“Shut up, Sam.”

“He’s not Cassie.” Those were good times. With Jessica and Cassie and then it all came crashing down around them.

“I fucking _know_ that, Sammy. Now shut up and let me drink.”

\---

The next port they visit isn’t on the map. It’s owned by a dark-skinned man named Rufus. Bobby meets them here because it the perfect spot to have secret little meetings. (Rufus claims to have buried treasure all around the Caribbean and then some, and if he was ever caught, he probably be tortured for information and then killed. No one knows if Rufus is telling the truth or if he’s making excuses for his intense paranoia.)

Although Bobby keeps in the upper circle, he’s only there to make sure everything runs smooth. Born of a goddamn pig farmer, Robert Singer moved up the ranks, all thanks to his best friend John Winchester. John made sure Bobby was well taken care of in upper society, made sure he always had a place there. And there were a few people still left in the high ranks who remembered John Winchester, remembered that he wasn’t just a myth, and they treated Bobby with care. Called him Sir Robert. Gave him the highest praise.

But to the boys he would always be just plain ol’ Bobby.

Castiel recognized him, remembered seeing pictures of him in Zachariah’s mansion. Regal. Proud beard. He was different here, relaxed. Smiled easy when he saw Sam and Dean. (Cas had been taken along because both brothers knew Castiel would be pacing to get off the boat, demanding to know how his people were fairing.) “Bobby,” Dean says, laughing as the man gives him a sweeping hug.

“You seem awful, you fuckin’ rag-tag bunch.” He pulls Sam down, gives his hair a strong, probably painful ruffle. “Fuckin’ ruffians, the lot of you.”

“Yeah, like you care,” Dean says, clapping him on the back.

“Take a seat, Bobby,” Sam grins, “stay a while.”

“Not too long this time, boys,” Bobby says, acknowledging Castiel with a brief glance, “I’ve got things to attend to, make sure this whole thing goes through without a hitch.” He plunks a bottle of rum on the table, and Dean can’t smile wide enough. “Have time for a drink or two, though.”

“I knew I liked you for a reason, Bobby,” Dean replies, getting up to ask Rufus where the hell he kept the good drinking glasses, not these dusty bitches he had placed out.

“So you say you want to go after Uriel,” Bobby brings up, leaning back in his chair.

Sam nods. “First step to taking down Michael is to take down Zachariah. And to get Zachariah weak, we need to go after Uriel.” Whoa. _Whoa_. Castiel did not…Michael? _Sir Michael the Valiant?_ That Michael? He knew Sam and Dean were reckless but that kind of talk was insane. They could probably take down Zachariah now that they had Castiel. But Michael…Michael is a whole _other_ chess game.

Bobby does not seem shocked. It makes Castiel even more worried, because if _anyone_ in their circle ever found out that Bobby even had a whiff of their absurd plan, Sir Robert Singer’s body would be strung up for all to see as a shining example of why you don’t fuck with Michael. “Have you planned for it?”

“For the most part, yeah.”

“Good, I see not everything has been lost on you two.” Bobby motions to Castiel. “Feel a lot better discussing it if we were introduced.”

Sam motions. “This is Cas, Bobby.”

“Castiel,” he corrects, holding his hand out to Bobby. “I’ve actually heard much about you, Sir Robert.”

“No need for that,” Bobby says, grinning. “Just Bobby is fine.”

“Bobby, then.” Castiel feels a bit awkward using the nickname, but he doesn’t mind. “If you don’t mind me asking, how was the town before you left?” It prickles his skin a little to be so rude, but Castiel has to make sure that everything was all right.

“They’re all fine, Cas.” Bobby grasps the bottle he brought and takes a shallow swig of it. “They worried about you. Rumors spread around that you were kidnapped, but when I showed up, they assumed you moved somewhere else, took a small colony of Zachariah’s or something. I made sure they were well-taken care of,” and Castiel watches as he meets Sam’s eyes for a second, “and happy.”

“Zachariah came back?” Sam asks, drinking from the bottle as well when Bobby offers it to him.

Bobby nods. “Unfortunately, he knows that something fishy went on. He respected me when he questioned me about it, but I could tell he’s looking for blood.” He looks to Castiel with interested eyes. “You have a lot of information that could assist in his downfall, boy. When I was leaving, he was preparing to put out your name and sending some of his soldiers to search for you.”

Castiel sighs. “I would expect no less.” When Sam offers him the bottle, Castiel actually does take it, and after a few moments of staring at it, finally takes a large drink. In fact, it’s a little too big and he coughs a little, but it feels good burning down his throat. “But I’m glad to hear everything is fine and no one is worried.” However, there are larger things are hand. “Would you all excuse me for a moment?” Both men nod and Castiel politely bows and gets up from the table.

“He knows he’s in trouble,” Bobby says, glancing out after him. “You’ve put your ship in danger lugging him around.”

“He’s a good source of information, Bobby,” Sam says, and that’s when Dean decides to walk up, complaining about Rufus once again.

“That goddamn trader, if I have to search through another damn box with weird, undefinable shit next to perfectly good drinking glasses, I’m going to just start bringing things from the ship to drink out of.” He grabs the bottle and takes a long drag.

“Yeah, a good source of info until you get a cannonball to your hull,” Bobby says, and Sam glares. Bobby merely shrugs, “Just telling you what could happen, boy.”

“We’re keeping him around, Bobby. Your letters come too late for us to make plans in the proper time and we can’t have you on the ship,” Sam counters. “It’s too dangerous for either our ship or your reputation.”

Bobby snorts. “Or you could not kidnap the heir to someone who rests only a couple rungs down the social ladder from Michael.”

Sam laughs. “Like we could get viable information from someone any farther down? We had to take him, Bobby.”

“You need to let him go, Sam,” Bobby insists. “Get your information and get rid of him. Take him back to Zachariah. Kill him. Do _something_ , just don’t leave him on your ship.”

“Stop,” Dean says, and they both quiet and turn to him. Although he often acts the fool, Dean has a very commanding presence when he needs to. Sam knows people often forget that Dean’s captain of the ship as well, the way he flits about the crew as if he were one of them. Friendly, becoming, and then there are times like this. Times where it’s almost as if he gathers himself to be who he was meant to be. “He’s staying on the ship.”

When Bobby gives a forceful exhale of air and shakes his head, Dean continues on. “He’s staying on the ship because he has nowhere else to go.”

“He has plenty of places to go,” Bobby replies. “He could probably even go to the one he was arranged to be married to. He’s a good-lookin’ kid, he could definitely find somewhere.”

Dean shakes his head. “He couldn’t go anywhere he could trust.”

“Like he could trust you two nitwits?”

Dean and Sam exchange glances before Dean says, “We’ve always been fair. Never lied to him. He’s made friends on the ship. We’re probably the closest damn thing to home he’s had. Not to mention he’s an able fighter and he actually wants to be here.” A glare to Bobby before he repeats, “He’s staying on the ship.”

Bobby points a finger at him. “You’ll drop that tone with me right now, boy.” They keep each other’s eyes for a few more moments before Dean drops his and reaches for the bottle again, bringing it to his lips. “You can keep him, I’m just letting you know, it’s goddamn dangerous.”

“We’ll make sure to keep it in mind, Bobby,” Sam says softly.

Bobby stands up, making sure to place the chair to the side instead of letting it scrape against the floor. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a time in a man’s life when he’s got the urge to piss, and right now it’s that time for me.” He doesn’t bother with niceties on the Winchesters; John never liked it when he did, and neither do Sam and Dean.

But Bobby doesn’t head to the outhouse. Instead he walks outside to the empty dock beside Rufus’ house, the dock which Castiel is currently sitting on.

He’s surprised when Bobby sits beside him. “Hello, Robe—Bobby.”

“Hello, Castiel.”

Castiel smiles. “You may go ahead and call me Cas, if you would like. I imagine you have the same preference to nicknames as the Winchesters do.”

Bobby nods. “When did they tell you who they were?”

“They didn’t. Dean escorted me into a den where a very crafty Englishwoman brought it up.” He tilts his head, thinking back. “They mentioned the legends surrounding their name, but never actually confirmed it until the woman brought it up.”

“I was friends with John,” Bobby sums up for Castiel. “Promised him I would take care of his boys when he went out on the seas. Until they were old enough to go out with him.”

Makes sense why they would have such a close relationship. “So they grew up in good society?” Castiel asks. How curious. It would explain a few of the eccentricities the brothers share.

Bobby gives him another nod and smiles, looking out to the horizon. “Sam took to it a lot more than Dean did. Dean’s always been a rude bastard.”

Castiel lets Bobby peruse his memories for a bit before saying, “I didn’t know their plans were this big. Uriel and Zachariah, that was…ambitious. But _Michael?_ ” He can’t help the worried line forming between his brows. “Michael owns a great deal of land. He has heirs in England, the colonies. He will be practically impossible to go after.” He thinks that maybe…perhaps Bobby will tell him, “Why are they doing this?”

“Revenge, mostly.” Bobby shrugs, and it’s a graceful movement. “I don’t know all the reasons, both John and the boys have a habit of playing things very close to the chest.” He pauses, and looks to Castiel. “Would you really want to know?”

“I…” He stops himself, thinks about it for a bit. “No. Not in my position right now, no, I would rather not know.”

“They could kill you after this. Throw you overboard.”

Castiel acknowledges this with a one-shoulder shrug. “They _could_. I have hopes they will not.”

They sit there together in silence, listening to the waves lap at the shore. “Watch yourself,” Bobby says finally. “You throw your heart into this like I can tell you are, and they’ll either hurt you or kill you. It’s just the Winchester way.”

Castiel meets his eyes as he says, “I’ll keep that in mind, Bobby.”

“Well,” and Bobby claps him on the back, and when Castiel jerks near the water his heart flutters a little, “I better go back in to finish with the boys.”

“Thank you again for looking after the town in my prolonged absence,” Castiel says.

“My pleasure,” Bobby says and walks back towards Rufus’ house.

Castiel doesn’t know why he’s sitting by the water. It’s deep enough to make him stand on his toes and gasp for breath. Instead of worrying about these huge plans and _his_ role in them, Castiel instead forces himself to wonder when they will figure out he cannot swim.

\---

While the brothers and Bobby catch up and drink, Castiel goes back up to see Andy and Chuck. Of course, they are with a couple of other crew members, and Chuck quickly calls Castiel over, having run out of stories an hour ago. (He’s horrible at poker, which is the main game played on the ship after the dice games they played, like Mia and Liar’s Dice.) Chuck pleads for a story, some story, _any_ story.

Castiel tells them of Perseus and the Medusa. He personally likes the part about the Pegasus, but most of the crew members prefer the part where he tricks the Medusa and cuts her head off.

He’s gained more crew over to listen, with help from not only Andy and Chuck but also Ronald and Donnie and Jake. Most of them are amused, and they like the way he doesn’t act higher than them. (Castiel believes that’s part of why the crew tolerate him; although he has been taught that they sit lower than him on the social ladder, he realizes that here, they are his superiors. He’s not an idiot, and although sometimes he won’t agree with what may happen, Castiel accepts that he is not in his element.)

There are still a few crew members that will push him around, treat him rudely. Victor has jabbed him a few times with the wrong end of a cutlass, and Gordon has “accidentally” pushed his hip into the hard steel of a cannon more than once. Instead of doing something foolish, Castiel merely bides his time. He’ll show them. He’ll forgive it for now, but he’s still got plans to be a quartermaster. (He knows it’s a shaky plan. He doesn’t even know how long Dean and Sam plan on keeping him here. But since this is where he seems to be, he’ll aim high.)

Dean and Sam visit the crew when the sunsets. They tell them to all get a good night’s sleep; might as well have a good rest in a safe spot and then begin in the morning.

Castiel catches Sam’s eyes. “Where are we going in the morning?” he asks.

“Uriel’s.” Sam’s more than a little drunk, so his grin is wide. “Tomorrow we start after the big dogs, Cas.”

He is not excited. He thinks back to the conversation he had with Zachariah before all of this happened.

“Who is this on the books?” Castiel asks, looking at the huge, leather-bound book used for any and all trades and the like that came through port. The name is not in Zachariah’s handwriting, instead in an elegant scribble that doesn’t have a first or last name, nor anything written beside it to hint as to what was purchased or sold.

“Never you mind,” Zachariah says, and his tone is cold and dark. Castiel doesn’t like that, because it usually means awful things. (Not awful for him, but usually no good for the town.)  
“Why is he even in here?”

“We do private business with that man,” Zachariah says, and he actually does bring his voice down in volume, which makes the hairs on Castiel’s neck prickle. Zachariah boasts for hours upon hours upon hours, even when the subject at hand is presumably private. What would make him lower his tone?

“May I inquire as to what business, sir?” Castiel makes sure to say ‘sir’, for it usually makes Zachariah preen to be called that and therefore makes him more liable to give Castiel the information he desires.

“Security,” Zachariah says. “With pirates close at hand, we must be ready for all threats, and Sir Michael has given us this man’s name in particular." He pauses, looking down at the single word. “The world has many secrets that his man is privy to. We are wise to take his advice. Uriel has told me he is helpful, and I will pay whatever the price to keep my fortune safe."

A chill goes down Castiel’s spine as he looks at the name. What secrets? What things?

Castiel was wrong. There is _something by the man’s name, an ‘x’ scrawled three times._

_Crowley. The C is bigger than the rest of the letters, ending with a simple flourish of the y._

_It does not bode well._

\---

It’s only natural that Castiel cannot sleep.

The day before the battle, perhaps then the ship will be bustling, but right now they are all asleep. Rufus’ port is a safe haven, so keeping watch is not a necessary chore. Except for Castiel, who paces on deck.

He was all but fine with Uriel being taken down. Zachariah as well. But…there were great forces to be reckoned with. Michael rules with an iron fist over many of the great ports in the Caribbean. He’s got connections to the East India Trading Company, allies in the Spanish Armada, supposed heirs hidden away in the colonies. He comes from one of the wealthiest families ever to set foot in this part of the seas, one of them told to have founded Port Royal back when it was a new, respectable young place.

He thinks that there will be bad ends all around. Deaths for him and the Winchesters for sure, who knows what for the rest of the crew. It’s a depressing fate to be heading towards. And then he feels fingers wrap around his arm and lips to his ear and then a voice. “We can hear you pacing this late at night.”

The blush rises quick to Castiel’s face at both being caught pacing and the intimacy of the way it was told to him. “I’m sorry, captain.”

Castiel can smell the alcohol, thick and heavy on the breath against his ear. “Calling us captain, do you prefer that?”

“I have no opinion on the matter.” Actually, he doesn’t prefer it. He doesn’t prefer it at all. It’s hard to go backwards like that, to start on a first-name basis and then have to go back. “If it’s what you want, then I will do so.”

Dean laughs. “You worried? About what’s to come? ‘S that why you’re pacing?”

“More than you can imagine,” Castiel admits. “You two have no idea what you are up against.”

The fingers on his arm tighten. Dean’s pressed against him and Castiel’s mind suddenly gives him an imagine of his dream like a stab to his abdomen. _Dammit._ “We know exactly what we’re up against. We’ve been waiting a long time to get this into motion. You have no _idea._ ”

“Do you?” He says the words sarcastically, turning his head so he can meet Dean’s eyes. Castiel is reminded how uncomfortably close they are. “I may have no idea the scope of your revenge, but I’m not sure you understand how far Michael’s reach goes.”

So close. They are so close. Just a little movement and Castiel would be able to taste the tequila that he smells so strongly off of Dean.

“ _Dean._ ” Sam’s soft voice travels to them. “Stop messing around.” The _clunk-clunk-clunk_ of Sam’s boots against the deck and suddenly he’s there, in front of Castiel. “Leave the man to his pacing. Like you haven’t done it once or twice before.”

“And you’re always there to stop me, Sammy.” Dean’s lips brush against the back of Castiel’s neck as Dean moves to rest his forehead against Castiel’s head. “I was just helpin’ like you help me.” He sighs, and Castiel’s eyes flutter as a little jolt goes right down his spine at the feel of Dean’s breath on his skin.

Sam’s movements are clumsy because he’s obviously had more than a bit to drink as well, but he’s leaning in and wrapping a sure hand around Dean’s wrist. “Let him to his thoughts, Dean.” And for a moment Sam stumbles, hair brushing against Castiel’s forehead and _please oh god why does this have to happen right at this moment_ —

“C’mon, Dean,” and then Dean’s letting go, letting Castiel quickly step aside so Sam can hoist up his brother up on one shoulder. “Sorry to interrupt you, Dean likes to meander about when he’s drunk.” Sam’s soft words slur together a little, but Castiel can still make out what he’s saying.

“It’s no problem.”

“Resume your pacing. Just make sure to get a few hours sleep,” Sam says, and then helps his brother back to their quarters, Dean cursing and making a fuss, per usual.

Castiel brushes his forehead. Dean smells like leather and cedar and sandalwood, but Sam smells like salt and old books and musk. They must keep some kind of incense or perfumes, and that makes Castiel smile a little, to think that they still seem to care about those kind of things.

He has a sit for a small while after that, and for a moment Castiel thinks of a warm hand around his arm and long hair brushing his temple. He thinks that if he wasn’t in trouble before with his emotions, it’s going to be twice as bad now.

\---

Five days. Five days of waiting and prepping. They stop at Port Royal to get their supplies from Lexa and Alex—the riskier things they procured from Rufus—and now it’s just psyching themselves up.

The days are impossibly long. Castiel can do nothing but pace every night, agreeing to watch the deck while everyone gets some sleep.

Dean will watch him from time to time. Castiel will stare out at the water, fiddle with the ring on his necklace, but most of the time it’s just walking back and forth.

They can see it on the horizon. Uriel’s mansion. They’ll attack after night falls, of course, early in the morning.

There are express rules not to drink until everything’s said and done. Both brothers have let the crew know they don’t want a stupid drunk to ruin what they have so carefully planned. As day makes its way to dawn, everyone is painfully sober and so damn _aware_. Sam and Dean do what is needed for their crew and they damn well know it; now it’s time for them to return the favor.

Castiel’s stomach drops as the stars appear. (Of course there is no moon. Can’t be a moon tonight.) Dean yells out, orders the men to start sailing to land.

Castiel jumps when Sam lands a hand on his shoulder. “Captain,” Castiel says in a hushed, somber tone.

Sam doesn’t correct him now. “If we don’t come back, take the ship and go to Rufus’. He’ll send for Bobby.”

“If something happens, I’m going to get you.” It’s said as a fact.

The hand tightens around Castiel’s shoulder. He has forgotten how big Sam’s hands are. “If something happens, you’re going to stay on the ship with Chuck so it doesn’t get into the wrong hands.” When Castiel just stares at him—as if Sam’s said the wrong answer and Castiel is waiting until he gets it right—Sam squeezes his shoulder again. “That’s not a request. It’s an order.”

Finally treated as a crew member, huh? He can’t look at Sam anymore, choosing to let his eyes move forward and land on the port ahead. “Yes, Captain.”

“Thanks, Cas.” And before Castiel can say another word he’s gone, moving somewhere else.

They land far too soon for Castiel’s taste. As the crew moves off ship, Dean gives Castiel a wink. And then they’re gone. Chuck watches the crowd of them break off into two groups, one heading to the side of the compound, one heading to the front.

“They’ll be back,” Chuck says. “They always come back.”

“I hope so, Chuck.”

\---

To Castiel’s credit, it isn’t until the strange inhuman roar that he leaves ship.

“What the hell?” Both him and Chuck bolt up when they hear it, a strange cry between an animal roar and a horrible gasping hiss. There was also something so familiar, some kind of cry that Castiel had heard before…there was no time to place it. Because after that, all he heard was screaming.

“I’m going to get them.”

To Chuck’s credit, he’s very fast when he needs to be. He clutches Castiel’s arm, eyes wide underneath his glasses. “Cas, no.”

“Chuck, I’m going. They obviously need help.”

“I’m not sayin’ they don’t, Cas,” Chuck agrees, “I’m sayin’ there’s not much we can do.”

Castiel smiles and puts his hand over Chuck’s. “I am not useless.” In a firm grip, he gently removes Chuck’s hand from his forearm. “I will be back.” Chuck sputters a few more words of protest, but the truth of the matter is that Castiel is physically stronger than he is, and if Chuck didn’t let him go, well, Cas probably would have overpowered him just the same.

Castiel runs and runs and runs. _Please. I don’t want to go back. Please let them be alive._

The roar washes over him again, a loud, rumbling sound that builds and builds into the hiss and then there is a flash of light and the smell of flesh burning.

Oh dear God.

It is chaos. The first thing Castiel sees is the blood.

The dreadlocked man that first came to get Castiel about a month ago is lying in two pieces, entrails sprawled across the cobblestones. _Oh God_. It’s almost as if the metallic scent of blood has been waiting for him to get this far to smack him in the face, and he reels back. His body has deep gashes in it, as if giant claws ran across his middle and disemboweled him.

The worst part is the teeth marks in his shoulder and the burned skin around where his arm _should_ be. 

The smell of burned flesh makes Castiel gag. He reaches down to grab his scimitar and runs. The least he can do is grab the weapon. He can’t focus on the man’s body right now, he has to let that wash over him, he can’t care right now.

When he hears the roar again, it’s a slow build up. From the shore it’s so clear, but in the midst of all the screaming he can’t hear it until it’s shaking the ground at his feet.

More bodies. So many bodies. Castiel sees them all in flashes. Don't stop, don't think. Not right now. All that matters is getting to the mansion.

Castiel has read a lot about bloodshed. He has not just heard but often hungered for the stories that describe the battles, to try and seep in the last moments of some great warrior as he meets his end in a last brutal sweep of honor. Some amazing last feat as they held in their stomachs from slipping out from between the large gash their arch-enemy had sliced into their torso. Castiel thought that there was some kind of great moment there, in their death. That time stopped for one moment to acknowledge the snuffing out of men as they fought through agonizing pain.

Most of the guards are dead, which Castiel expects. These are ruthless pirates they are fighting, men who have built their lives on survival. Although the guards may have more skill, the pirates have an instinct for blood. No, no, that doesn’t surprise him and he’s able to easily slip into the mansion.

What he doesn’t expect is the large creature that is shaking a crew member called Garrett in its teeth, torn flesh dropping and splattering on the ground. Garrett is screaming and the creature is actually _purring_ from its great lion head.

Garrett is screaming, at least, until the snake head comes around from the back and sinks its large fangs through his leg. Garrett’s death throws are lost in the rest of the chaos after that.

The creature is impossibly large, at least as tall as half the mansion, perhaps as tall as three of Castiel put one on top of the other. The lion head grins with its awful teeth, letting out a warning roar. Its tail is a snake which curls in the back, letting out a strong, wet hiss as poison drips from its fangs. And the sound Castiel recalled, the ugly sound he remembered but couldn't exactly place must have been from the goat, which seems awkwardly stuck in the middle of this monstrosity, bleating as the head moves about, horns curving wickedly from its skull.

The lion’s head drops Garrett’s body, uninterested now that he’s dead. The body drops to the ground with a sick thump, blood splattering across the giant paws. Its eyes move around, waiting for more prey.

And that’s when Castiel sees Dean, half-covered in blood, two swords at his side. His hair is matted across his forehead, face mused with soot, eyes burning up at the lion head, darting from the goat head and the snake head.

Another crew member runs to the the middle of the beast, sword held high. The goat head bleats and the head ducks down, swiftly moving to the side and the sharp horn impales the man, his body impacting as the blood spills to the ground like an afterthought. That’s when Castiel whispers to himself, “The chimera.”

It can’t be. This…this was myth. This is not real. But when the creature swipes another man to the side and he crashes dangerously close to where Castiel is standing, it prompts him to call out for Dean, running to him. Of course, both Dean and the chimera notice him. “ _Cas!_ ” Dean shouts, and when the large paw lands near him, Dean throws his sword, spearing the beast in its ankle. The chimera rears in pain and— _holy mother of god_ —throws its head to the side, fire billowing in anger from its mouth.

“Dean,” Castiel says, “Dean, we have to go, that—this creature is not—”

“Sam’s inside,” Dean interrupts, pulling Castiel so hard his shirt sleeve rips. “Sam’s inside with the others getting the loot. We need to kill this thing before they come back or else it’s going to be carnage.”

“ _Dean!_ ” Castiel shoves roughly into Dean, and they tumble into brush as a giant paw swipes over their heads.

“Jesus _Christ_ , Cas, warn a man!”

“Dean, that is a chimera,” Castiel babbles. “Greek myth. You can’t—you can’t just _kill it._ ” The chimera growls in pain again, and Dean grimaces as another crew member screams, the hot splash of blood following directly after.

“What?” Dean pulls him up quickly, handing Cas his stolen sword. “What the fuck do you mean?”

“It’s immortal,” and he’s trying to remember the myth. Bellerophon…how…what did he _do_ —

Dean shakes him. “Wake the fuck up, Cas, this is _real_.” They run through the open gateway into the main ground, and the chimera spots them easily.

Castiel looks back. The chimera looks like it’s smiling, a bloody mass gripped in its jaws. It sniffs twice and then exhales, fire licking around its mouth. Both men smell the burning flesh before the lion head throws it up, and the goat head catches it, swallowing the man with a pleased grunt.

“How do we kill it?” Dean asks as they both back up.

“I’m thinking,” Castiel says as the creature slowly pads forward, the snake head hissing as it ducks under the entryway.

“Think _faster_ , dammit!” And they both duck and roll as the chimera swipes over their heads. It lets out a low, rumbling purr, and a sick feeling washes over Castiel as he realizes its just _toying_ with them. Playing with them before it kills them.

Oh _fuck_. How did Bellerophon kill it? The Pegasus wasn’t enough, it helped but it wasn’t enough and—

Castiel looks at the giant metal horses that Uriel has for his boastful outdoor decoration and it clicks. He runs up to the stairs, hoists himself onto the low wall that leads up to the right-side statue. As Castiel is climbing up to get as close to the weathered iron horse, he sees Dean’s shoulder suddenly gush blood. The lion’s great claw as grazed him, and it roars triumphantly as Dean yells in pain. The blood has been spilled, and now it’s time for the kill.

“ _Dean!_ ” Castiel screams, and he gets the attention of both his captain and the beast. “Come at me, you bitch!” he screams, and the snake head spits, striking at him. Castiel hides behind the stone, just turning as a huge chunk of it is taken out, the poison from the fangs sizzling on the metal as it flies through the air.

When the snake head fails to retrieve Castiel from his hiding spot, the chimera turns to face him, the lion’s head huge and looming, spit and blood dripping from its jaws. “You’re _mine_ ,” Castiel hisses as the lion rears back and lunges, jaws open. It catches the iron horse and part of the stone as Castiel ducks down. As the goat head bleats angrily, Castiel loses his balance and tumbles to the cobblestones, left shoulder taking most of his fall and his head taps on the ground.

“Cas, _no!_ ” Dean screams as the lion tips its head upward, fire licking at the sky. The intense heat starts melting the items in its mouth, and Castiel’s vision swims as Dean runs to him. “Fucking idiot,” Dean hisses before the goat head _screams_.

“Dean,” Castiel says, tongue thick in his mouth, gripping at Dean’s arm.

“Fucking reckless,” and Castiel is grinning.

“It wasn’t iron, it was lead,” he claims.

“What?”

“No rust, can't be iron," he babbles. Iron rusts. Out here, weathered constantly, Uriel never bothered to have them cleaned and taken care of. They should have rust on them. But they don't, and Castiel knows _why._ "The statues are _lead_ ,” and then the goat head screams again. Dean looks back.

The lion head is thrashing, growling, and a horrible choking sound issues from its throat. Castiel barks out a laugh as it tumbles to the ground, the lion head gasping for air. “Inside,” Castiel says, pulling on Dean to help him up, “we need to get Sam.”

They run past the chimera and into the entryway. “I could kiss you right now,” Dean laughs at Castiel. “Never thought a stupid bookreader would help me in a battle.”

“I wouldn’t insult me since I just saved your life,” and Castiel’s voice is still light, still high on adrenaline. “Where is Sam?”

“Upstairs,” Dean says, and they run as best they can.

Gold coins are strewn across the foyer floor and Castiel leads Dean to Uriel’s bedroom. When the bedroom is empty, they go to the other room, the one for his mistress.

A woman is dead on the floor. A bloody dagger beside her, and Uriel is pinned to the headboard, sword plunged through the meat of his shoulder. He’s bleeding onto the mattress, breathing heavily. When he sees Castiel, his eyes widen in the candlelight and then narrow. “Told Zachariah you were a traitor,” he laughs, and blood bubbles from over his lips. “Told him you probably went right with them. Told him that no matter how you tried to class it up, scum would always be scum.”

Before Castiel can react, Sam swiftly strikes Uriel across the face, making the pinned man groan and then laugh. “Shut up,” Sam hisses.

“Do you fight with them or are you just their whore?” Uriel continues, and that prompts a wicked smile on Dean’s lips as he steps towards Uriel.

“We’re here to claim your blood,” Dean murmurs.

“For _what?_ ” The blood spills down Uriel’s chin, thick with spit.

“We know you had your part to play in John Winchester’s death,” Sam says, driving the sword deeper into Uriel’s shoulder and making the man shout in pain.

“That…that was Zachariah,” Uriel gasps, “not _me._ ”

“No,” Dean says, “no. But you _were_ the one to put the bounty on their heads.” He slowly unsheathes his dagger. “Cassandra. Jessica. You wanted them dead.”

Uriel laughs. “Those whores? That’s what you’re killing me for?” He groans when Dean drives the blade into his stomach.

“They deserve your blood, and Sammy and I, we’re glad to give them what they deserve.” He twists the blade and Uriel screams faintly, starting to go into shock from loss of blood.

“Come on, Dean,” Sam says. “The men have already left with most of the loot, and Uriel has a while still to bleed out before he dies.” Dean twists the blade again, and the grim smile is on his face, ugly and cruel.

“Dean,” Castiel murmurs. “He is not worth it.” Dean glances back. “Please, captain,” Castiel continues. “We need to go before reinforcements arrive from the back of the island.”

Dean digs the blade a little deeper before pulling it out and nodding. “Okay.” He looks back to Uriel and grins. "You should die slow. A quick death is too good for you."

Uriel barks out an unsteady laugh. “Once Zachariah finds me dead, Castiel, he’ll come after you. He’ll make you bleed for this.” The blood dribbles down his chin, and he coughs, the spit flying off his lips in little red droplets.

“I am ready for him,” Castiel says, looking down at Uriel. He looks regal, almost, the candlelight glinting sharply off his blue eyes. Looking at him, a sharp feeling of _want_ lurches in Sam’s heart. “Let him come.”

Sam’s clothes are splashed with blood, his face almost entirely covered in black soot. He presses his lips to Castiel’s forehead. “We need to go.”

Castiel nods. “Dean.”

Dean meets Castiel’s eyes. “To the ship then.”

Uriel screams after them, something at Castiel, but he does not listen. This battle is over.

When they pass over the now-dead chimera, all of its mouths open and lax, Sam makes a small sound. “All Cas, that one,” Dean says and claps Castiel on the back. “Fucker proved all that book-learning worthwhile.”

Castiel has never felt more proud.

\---

Almost everything is gold or precious stones. The body count is more than either brother would have guessed, around thirty of the crew. The chimera took a great toll on them, an unexpected threat.

But now everyone is safe. Right now that is good enough.

Castiel is telling the story to Andy and Chuck when he is summoned to the captains’ quarters. When Chuck gives him a little apprehensive look, Castiel smiles and tells him not to worry.  
He takes a look at the door before he goes in, this time able to look at the strange markings since he’s not being ushered through it. He touches the carvings, tilting his head as he examines them. They look familiar, somehow.

But thinking will be saved for another day. Castiel raps lightly on the door, and when he hears Sam calling him in, he opens it.

Dean’s grinning. “If it isn’t the great slayer of beasts,” he says, taking a large swig out of his glass.

“Our Bellerophon,” Sam laughs, and Castiel blushes.

“It was a smart guess.”

“More than a guess,” Sam corrects as Dean sloshes rum into a cup. “And we’re grateful.”

“Without you,” Dean slurs, “we’d be dead right now.” He hands him the goblet.

Castiel takes it and Dean raises an eyebrow, staring at him until he finally takes a sip. “Without me,” Castiel says, swallowing a cough (he’s never been much of a drinker), “you probably wouldn’t have been here in the first place.”

Dean and Sam exchange glances. “True,” Dean replies, “but you didn’t need to help us.”

“You were in danger,” and Castiel feels his cheeks get hot. “You needed assistance, and my knowledge happened to be useful.”

Sam leans back, sprawled out lazily in his chair. He grins at Castiel, and the blue-eyed man feels a small wave of heat slowly creep down his spine. “We’re not cruel. You can have whatever you want for that.”

“Not everything you want,” Dean clarifies, “but we will give you something you want. Wished for. Whatever.”

“If you wanted to go free,” Sam offers as an example, “we would let you off at the next port with enough money to get you somewhere comfortable. We owe you at least that much.”

Castiel stares in his cup and drinks some of the rum again. He’s a little bit disappointed that they think he still wants off the ship, that he would take their offer with open arms. Hasn’t he proved himself by this time? Proved to them that he has earned a spot on this crew?

A warm arm slips around his shoulders and Castiel may have let his eyes close a little at the feeling. “Tell us what you want and we’ll give it to you,” Dean murmurs, his lips wavering dangerously close to Castiel’s cheek.

“What do you want, Cas?” Sam asks, raising an eyebrow.

Castiel tries to bring himself together, but when Dean pulls him a little closer to examine his expression, Castiel finds himself losing track of the conversation a little. Dean’s breath is hot on his cheek, and Sam is sprawled out in front of him. This must be Hell, temptation he can’t escape. And then Sam just has to lean forward, and there’s that something again, the something dark in his eyes as he looks at Castiel. “Anything. If it’s something we don’t have, I’m sure we can get it.”

And then his mind just screams _them._ He wants _them_ , god, especially right now. Castiel has never been good with romance or seduction, but he wonders what Sam would do if he just reached over and stole a kiss from Dean. What _Dean_ would do, even. Maybe if he did—

And suddenly Castiel is painfully aware both brothers are watching him very carefully. He should probably give an answer, shouldn’t he? “I want to stay on the ship. Be part of the crew.” Then, a little more softly, “If you’ll have me.”

Dean makes a soft sound like he’s clearing his throat and backs away. Sam’s eyes flash and he nods. “We’d be glad to.”

“Anything else you’re looking for?” Dean says, and his voice is a little husky. “After all, not much of a change from right now.”

“I’d like to save it for later,” Castiel shrugs, “since I cannot give you a proper answer save the one I already gave.” He drains the rest of his cup, the rum bringing a pleasant warmth to his cheeks.

“Fair enough,” Sam answers, and offers a seat. “Would you like to keep drinking with us?”

Castiel smiles. “One more cup, perhaps. And then I must get some sleep, I think.”

They end up drinking for another hour. Castiel falls asleep hiccuping in his chair, and Sam is the one to go ahead and place him in a cot in the crew’s quarters.

\---

Castiel is slumped over the edge of the ship when Dean finds him.

“A little sick, are we?”

“Hungover is more like it,” Castiel groans. “I am never drinking with you two again.”

Dean laughs and tells Andy that Cas might need some water. Andy tells Cas of some hangover remedies as they share some coffee that Andy may or may not have snuck from the captains. (“I won’t tell as long as you won’t,” he winks at Cas, who laughs and agrees).

\---

When they get to Rufus’ island, they are greeted by the man himself. “Winchesters!” he calls. “Get your asses down here!”

Sam and Dean exchange glances. “What the hell, Rufus?” Dean shouts.

“You’ve got a goddamn visitor!” and Rufus is furious. “What the hell did I tell you about bringing people to my island, boy?”

Castiel’s breath hitches in his throat. He thinks of the single name. The three x's. When Dean sees him, he looks Castiel. “Do you know something about this?”

Castiel slowly shakes his head. “I have no idea.”

Dean examines his worried face. “You’re coming with us. _Everyone else stays on the ship!_ ”

He seems jumpy and unusual. Sam tries to ask him what the matter is, but Dean brushes him off. “Who the fuck could it be?” Dean mutters, mostly to himself.

When they get inside the foyer, both brothers stop. “Wha—what has happened?” Castiel asks, and nudges both of them aside to see—

The first thing Castiel notices is that he’s got lots of rings. An emblem of some sort hangs at his neck from a thin leather strap. His hair is wind-blown, some of his bangs curled playfully across his forehead. His dress is a little eccentric but not completely unusual. A coin flips across his knuckles and his eyes…his eyes are a bright golden brown, catching in the sunlight.

He looks to Castiel and his lips quirk into a smile. “Hello, boys. I came as soon as I got your message.”

Dean nods. “Took you long enough. Hailed you two months ago.”

“I was busy. And I think _you_ were as well.” The smile widens, and his teeth are too bright for this man to be a common thief. He brims with energy. “And who’s this?” He openly looks Castiel up and down, finally meeting his eyes. “Eyes like the ocean and sky.”

“I’ve seen you before,” Castiel says, and the memory comes like a glint off a blade, “but I forget your name.”

“We never have met properly, have we?” The man sweeps the hat off his head, the soft downy of the feathers shivering and molting a bit at the sudden movement. “Gabriel,” he says, flipping the coin so Sam catches it. “They call me Glittering Gabriel.”

He looks to Dean, smile ever-present. “So what did you call about, Dean? I’m quite curious.” He looks to Dean’s right arm. “You’ve been dabbling in voodoo.” Both Castiel and Sam glance at Dean, who is staring at Gabriel with a stern determination.

“I need your help,” Dean says.

“Go on,” Gabriel purrs.

“It’s about a deal.”

 

\- end of the first book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acknowledgements:
> 
> \- 'Glittering Gabriel' is actually a reference to the song 'Shampain' by Marina and the Diamonds. I had to throw it in there. Not that the song has anything to do with pirates, but hey!
> 
> \- As you may have guessed, this is partly inspired by the Pirates of the Caribbean trilogy. It's not by any means a crossover - you won't see any characters in here from that series - but I thought it worth a mention here since watching those movies always helped me get in the mood to write this. In Book Two, I may have unconsciously borrowed a couple ideas from it, but the storyline is based purely on Supernatural. (Also, you have to remember that PotC is based on pirate lore, and it's hard to write something like this without it being compared in some way to PotC nowadays because their ideas came from the same place where I'm forming mine from.)
> 
> I apologize about the long chapters; this was written some while ago, so I mostly wanted to get the whole thing on here. The next book will have more shorter parts. I've tried to go back and rework things without entirely rewriting them.
> 
> If you got through this and are willing to go through a bit more, I appreciate it. Now that the world is built, I can really play. I promise, Book Two will have more familiar faces and a plot to really sink your teeth into! Thank you so much for reading!


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